


Seventh Heaven

by condescendingsmirk



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/condescendingsmirk/pseuds/condescendingsmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis is everything harry’s ever wanted to be and harry is everything louis never knew he needed. (harry skips a couple grades and ends up in louis’ class.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> previously posted on tumblr, figured this would be more convenient for everyone involved. ao3 is a fun place to be.
> 
> (i feel super weird re-posting this because i am entirely uncomfortable with my writing in the earlier parts and there are parts i'd definitely write differently and i just have really high standards for fic on ao3 and i feel like this shouldn't be posted here but someone asked and it just makes sense and ugh)
> 
> also, warning for british schooling system inaccuracies and incredibly annoying internal monologue.

“harry, come on! you’re going to be late!” 

harry jumps at the loudness and suddenness of his mother’s voice and his hand slips. the razor skits across the skin of his chin lightly and he gasps at the stinging, drawing his hand away and groaning when he sees blood welling up. “shit,” he curses, reaching for the loo roll and dabbing the blood away. more collects instantly and harry presses harder, urgently, because he can not have a cut from shaving on his face for his first day of sixth form. it’d be different if it was a black eye (how the fuck would he get a black eye from shaving) because at least he could blame it on some wild fist fight with a biker or something. that would probably at least earn him some friends (everyone likes a rebel, right?), but if he shows up with a cut from a razor people will assume he’s just a child who doesn’t know how to shave and - well, maybe he is, but he slipped, goddammit, it’s not his fault. 

“harry!” his mother says again, and he hears angry footsteps coming up the stairs.

“i’m coming, mum, just hold on!” he lifts the toilet paper from his face and lets out a sigh of relief when he can’t even see the cut, but the sigh turns into another frustrated groan when blood wells from the gash again. 

the bathroom door opens. “if you’re not out the front door in five minutes i’m leaving without—” she stops mid sentence, eyeing the blood on harry’s face with raised eyebrows before looking at the discarded razor on the sink. “is that my razor?”

“uh,” harry mutters, glancing at his mother and to the razor (it’s pink, which really helps the entire situation) then back again. “maybe.”

his mother tilts her head to the side curiously. “harry, did you shave?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know. it looks like she’s holding back laughter and harry pouts, cursing the fact that he got stuck with a mother with an actual sense of humor instead of a mother like liam’s, who shakes her head in annoyance anytime liam makes a sarcastic remark (which admittedly isn’t very often). why can’t she just yell at him and get out? that would be significantly less painful than watching her face turn pink from the effort to not burst out laughing at her own offspring. 

“maybe,” harry repeats, dabbing lightly at the blood on his face. 

his mother nods, biting her lip. “i see,” she says. “does it hurt?”

“nope,” harry mutters. “just my pride.” and his mum chokes on vent up laughter then, covering her mouth with her hand. when harry’s pout only grows her face softens. she still looks like she wants to laugh, though.

“why on earth did you want to shave, honey?” she asks, and it’s like she's turned on ‘caring mother mode’ with a flick of a switch. she grabs a cloth off the shelf and runs it under cool water before coming over and dabbing at harry’s battle wound lightly. “you’re fifteen.”

“exactly,” harry says, wincing slightly. “and i’m going to be in sixth form. i bet all the guys in my class shave.”

“because they’ve got hair on their faces,” she argues. putting down the cloth, she rests her hands on harry’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. “if you don’t want this, tell me now, harry. it’s not too late to back out.” her voice is laced with real concern, and harry sighs, shaking his head. 

“i do,” he says honestly, because year eleven just wasn’t working for him. he felt out of place and he hated the way his classmates looked at him every time he answered the teacher’s questions correctly or went to the library to read because he finished something early. he belongs in college, he knows he does, but he doesn’t want to be the odd one out again. “i just don’t know how to fit in.”

“would you hate me if i said ‘just be yourself’?”

“probably a little bit,” harry confirms with a nod, before breaking out into a grin. “if you want to give me some useful advice, though, i’m more than willing to listen.”

his mum nods. “hit anyone who doesn’t like you.”

“that’s more like it,” harry laughs, shrugging out of his mum’s arms and heading for the door. “now come on. my god, woman, don’t you know we’re running late?”

his mum laughs and follows him out.

before he gets out of the car to head into the school, though, she stops him with a hand on his arm. “i mean it, harry,” she says when he looks at her expectantly. “just be yourself. i’m proud of you, and i know dad would be too.”

harry smiles and kisses her on the cheek, sliding out of the car before he does something stupid like cry. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

it’s a good thing he didn’t cry, because at this rate, he’s going to need to save all his tears for when he gets home. 

“are you sure you’re in the right class, mr. styles?” mr. cardle asks, looking at his clipboard in confusion. mr. cardle had taught him maths in year nine and knew how old he was. harry wonders why nobody told him. “this is my year thirteen chemistry.” 

“uh,” harry clears his throat, trying to focus on the stupidfuckingman (please just shut up and don’t make a scene, harry thinks) talking to him and not on the sea of forty or so eyes trained on him from the desks arranged around the classroom. “yeah, mr. cardle. i, um. mrs. cole transferred me. she didn’t tell you?”

his teacher raises his eyebrows. “no, she didn’t. sorry, harry. have all your classes been switched to the sixth form level?”

harry nods. his cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“well, alright.” cardle turns to address the class and harry thinks shit shit shit don’t do it don’t fucking do it, but of course he does it. “this is harry styles, and he’ll be joining you for the rest of the school year,” he explains. “he’s new to this grade level, so play nice.” and ha-ha, normally harry could appreciate a teacher being (trying to be) funny, but right now he’d really just like to punch him in the face. or something. “you can sit at the back, harry, next to niall - the blonde one,” he adds at harry’s blank expression. 

“thanks,” harry mutters, walking to the back of the class without making eye contact with anyone and slipping in beside a kid with obviously dyed blonde hair. what kind of teenage boy dyes their hair blonde, anyway?

he can feel niall’s eyes on him so he flicks his own up quickly, scared the boy might bite him for sitting too close to him - he’s fifteen, alright, harry doesn’t know what it’s like inside a sixth form classroom - but the boy only smiles at him warmly and. well, okay.

“hey,” he whispers. “i’m niall.”

“harry,” harry smiles hesitantly, feeling kind of bad about the hair comment his inner monologue so rudely made - it suits him, he thinks now - and pulling out his books. 

niall nods like he already knew that and after cardle’s introduction harry kind of supposes he did, before asking, “how old are you, anyway?”

harry wrinkles his nose. “fifteen.”

“shit,” niall says, but he sounds more impressed than anything. he takes out his own books from his school bag. “you realize this is advanced placement chem, right? what the hell are you doing?”

harry shrugs, picking up on the boy’s heavy irish accent. “taking advanced placement chem, i guess.”

niall grins. “cheeky. i like it.”

harry smiles slightly again, relaxing a little bit, when there’s a sudden noise from the front of the class. harry and niall look up and are met with the sight of two more boys falling into the room, hanging off each other and clearly in hysterics. the one with a quiff - a massive fucking quiff - stops when he realizes the teacher has stopped writing on the board and everyone is looking at them, but the shorter one with feathery brown hair is clearly still too amused to give a shit and is holding his stomach and cackling harshly. 

“tomlinson?” mr. cardle asks, raising an eyebrow. “care to share what’s so funny?”

the boy with the quiff nudges him with his elbow - hard, by the sound of the other boy’s grunt - and the laughing silences, though his cheeks are still flushed and he’s biting his lip to stop from starting at it again. “not particularly, no.”

harry doesn’t know why, but he has to hide a smile in his hand. 

mr. cardle rolls his eyes. “fair enough,” he says. “but surely you can tell me why you’re five minutes late for my class, louis.”

the boy - louis - shakes his head. 

“sorry, mr. cardle,” the other one supplies, shooting an amused glare in louis' direction. “i couldn’t get my locker open.”

mr. cardle rolls his eyes at the blatant lie and gestures for the boys to sit down. they grin at each other before walking down the isle and taking the two empty seats in front of harry and niall, and harry shrinks back a bit. they seem a bit like douchebags, harry thinks. he likes them. 

“hey, kid, do you have a pen i could borrow?” a voice suddenly asks, and harry shifts his vision away from his blank piece of paper to find the one with the feathered hair - louis - turned around and looking at him expectantly.

“er - yeah, here,” harry says, offering his own pen out for louis to take. 

“thanks,” louis grins at him, and then, “are you blushing or are you just naturally that colour?”

“uh,” harry feels his face flush warmer and curses himself, because what the fuck. 

louis seems to accept that as an answer. “how old are you?” he asks, scanning his eyes across harry’s face with a raised eyebrow. 

harry swallows. “younger than you,” he says, and is rather proud of himself when his voice comes out steady. or maybe a little disappointed because it took an effort to get it that way. anyway, why do people keep asking him that? it’s not like he looks _twelve_. 

louis’ grin widens and harry feels his stomach churn pleasantly and he really wishes it would stop. “cheeky,” he comments, chewing on harry’s pen. “i like it.” 

and with that he turns around, leaving harry to wonder what the fuck that fluttering feeling in his stomach is and why the fuck he’s blushing.


	2. Part Two

he asks for a pen again on tuesday. 

harry’s explaining to niall why exactly it is he skipped two years (harry learned yesterday that niall’s in two more of his classes and had elected to sit by him in both, but he ‘figured it’d be rude to ask when they didn’t even know each other.’ harry was too elated by the fact that the irish boy seems to be taking an actual interest of friendship with him to point out that they still really don’t know each other) when louis and the quiffy one from yesterday stride into the classroom, taking their seats in a fashion significantly less boisterous than the day before. 

harry trails off at the sight, distracted. 

“harry?” niall asks, and harry turns away from the boy sitting in front of him (the back of his head is quite nice, he thinks) and to the blonde boy beside him. “you okay, mate?”

“yeah, fine,” harry mutters, but he doesn’t continue his explanation just then, lost in his head. he’d thought about the whole louis-reaction-thing last night and decided that it’s gotta be put down to intimidation; there’s nothing else it could be. well, okay, there is, but he’s not even going to go there. the thought is ridiculous, it’s totally impossible and harry doesn’t even like boys like that - though he’s admittedly not thickheaded enough to not be able to admit to himself that louis is an attractive guy, because he’s not blind and—

“hey,” another familiar voice (should his voice be familiar after only about a half of a conversation?) interrupts his meanderings and harry freezes before looking up, scared that maybe the older boy had been reading his thoughts or something and is going to tell him off for thinking about the possibility of maybe finding him half attractive. when he does meet the boy’s eyes, though, louis only grins.

“hi,” harry replies, but it comes out more like a croak. he blushes and says again, more clearly, “um, hey.”

louis’ grin widens. “i forgot my pen again,” he says, eyeing the writing utensil sitting on harry’s desk. “can i barrow one?”

harry nods quickly, jerkily pushing the pen towards louis, who promptly picks it up and begins chewing on the end. 

“i never caught your name,” he says, raking his eyes over harry’s face, causing it to heat up - again. he thinks back to louis’ comment from yesterday - ‘are you blushing or is your face always that colour?’ - and he’s sure the tinge to his complexion only worsens at the memory. honestly, this can’t be normal. hasn’t the blood in his body got more important things to do?

“harry,” he replies, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and willing his cheeks to calm the fuck down. 

louis nods like he approves, before reaching his hand out for harry to shake. “i’m louis,” he says, and harry resists the urge to say ‘i know,’ because that’d probably be a bit creepy, right?

anyway, he guesses he must stare at louis’ hand for a second too long, because louis snorts out a laugh. “i’m not going to bite you,” he says, raising his eyebrows. 

harry clears his throat and accepts louis’ offered hand, kind of wishing he would. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

on wednesday louis’ eyes find harry’s as soon as he sets foot in the classroom. he smirks - does he have any other facial expressions? - delicately around the pen protruding from his mouth before pulling the object out and dropping it in the trash bin, making his way to his seat. harry cocks an eyebrow. 

louis walks past his own desk to stand in front of harry’s and the younger boy feels his heartbeat quicken. “i seem to have misplaced my pen again,” he says, resting his hands on the edge of harry’s desk and leaning down so they’re at eye level. harry’s breath may or may not hitch at the close proximity; he can feel louis’ own breath on his face, warm and sweet, and it blows the ‘intimidation’ theory right out the window. if he even ever actually believed that himself. “could you lend me one, please?”

harry takes a deep breath, chanting calmdowncalmdowncalmdown over and over again inside his head, but there’s something fluttering around in his stomach that he refuses to label as ‘butterflies’ and he’s having a bit of trouble thinking straight - uh, no pun intended. his eyes flit over to the bin in which louis discarded his pen for a moment before meeting the older boy’s smiling eyes again. 

“yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too quiet, his own mouth quirking up into a hesitant grin. he places his pen into louis’ outstretched hand. “here.”

louis immediately, unsurprisingly, places it in his mouth. “you’re a lifesaver,” he says, turning around and taking his seat. 

harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

on thursday he has a pen waiting on louis’ desk. 

niall’s telling him a story about his older brother (harry’s still not sure if niall is like this with everybody or if it’s just him, but they’d exchanged numbers yesterday after maths and niall had texted him as soon as school was over), which gives him an excuse to not watch the door. he knows when the boy enters the classroom, though, because he’s never exactly quiet and lets out a ridiculous cackle at something his friend says as he strolls over to his desk to take his seat. 

he stops, harry can see out of the corner of his eye, and looks at his desk.

“harry, mate? what’s wrong?” niall asks, raising an eyebrow.

harry swallows, refusing to meet the eyes he can feel on his face. “erm - what do you mean?” 

“you’ve gone all red.”

oh, right. shit. thanks, niall. “sunburn,” harry says on impulse, and niall wrinkles his nose. 

“it’s been raining for days,” he says in confusion, and _shut up shut up shut up._

harry hears louis’ choked laughter before he takes his seat, back facing harry. he starts up a conversation with his dark haired friend - whose name is zayn, harry had learned - and leaves harry to blush in silence.

“delicate skin,” he mutters to niall, as mr. cardle begins a lecture. niall snorts and pulls out his books, shaking his head in a way that harry worries is almost knowing. 

he’s been taking notes for a good twenty minutes when a ripped off piece of paper slides onto his desk. he looks up and louis is already turned back around, but he can just imagine the grin on his face as he stares at the blackboard ahead.

harry reaches for the scribbled note, stomach doing cartwheels, and has to bite his lip to keep his mouth from splitting into a ridiculous grin at the simple ‘thanks ;)’ written on the piece of paper. 

basically, he’s fucked. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“so, any older women caught your eye yet?”

harry chokes on his toast, looking at his mother with wide eyes. “what?”

they’re sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, and his mum glances up from her newspaper at harry’s reaction. “any fanciable girls in your new classes?” she repeats, casually. and harry supposes it is kind of a casual question; he tells her everything. he’s never kept his infatuations a secret from her before.

when he was eleven and had his first kiss, he came home and explained to his grinning mother how the girl - cindy? - had bit his tongue, which had ended up in her mouth at his friend will’s experienced instruction. ‘did she _want_ your tongue in her mouth, harry?’ she had asked, barely concealing her laughter. harry had shrugged. ‘well, she bit it. so i guess not.’

it’s that memory that makes him do it, he thinks. “no,” he says with a shrug that he hopes looks nonchalant, taking a bite of toast. he feels like he’s going to throw up his heart. “might be a guy, though.”

he holds his breath. his mum blinks at him, expression blank. say something, he thinks. he’s not sure what he’s expecting - he knows she won’t be mad or disgusted or anything like that, but words might be nice. a reaction might be nice. 

“uh, mum?”

then she shrugs, nodding slowly. harry’s mouth drops open. “well, that’s new,” she says simply, swallowing another spoonful of cereal. 

wait, what? “that’s _new?_ ” he asks, eyebrows rising so high that they’re hidden beneath his fringe. “mum, i just told you i think i like boys, and all you says is ‘that’s _new’?_ ”

“well what else am i supposed to say?” she asks, putting down the spoon and paper in her hands and holding her arms up in indignation. “this is a relatively new development, is it not?”

harry nods slowly, staring at his mother like she’s grown a second head.

“then that’s a perfectly reasonable reaction,” she says, looking quite pleased with herself. and then, after a pause, “is he hot?”

“mum, oh my god!” harry stands up, burying his face in his hands and walking blindly from the room. his hands heat up from the warmth radiating from his cheeks and he reaches blindly for his bag. “i’m walking to school!” he shouts. he can hear her laughter booming from the kitchen. “probably never coming back again!”

“get his number!” she shouts back, and harry slams the door behind him, contemplating skipping school and going to the hospital to demand to see his birth certificate, because there is no way in hell that that woman is his biological mother. 

he should probably get the whole excessive blushing thing checked out when he’s there, too.


	3. Part Three

another week passes and harry gives louis a pen every single fucking day.

he’ll enter the room and take his seat in front of harry, and just before the bell rings (assuming he’s on time), he’ll turn around and harry will simply lift a pen up and raise his eyebrow. the older boy will grin in return and take it silently before placing it in his mouth and turning back around.

harry finds it ridiculously overwhelming and kind of hates himself for it.

on a more mellow note, though, as the days pass he begins to think of niall more and more as an actual mate and less as ‘that excitable blonde irish kid who sits next to him in a bunch of classes’, which is nice.

“hey, buddie,” is his greeting when he enters the chemistry classroom that morning, almost two weeks since doing so for the first time. “you going to the footie match tonight?”

harry shrugs, taking out two pens and his chem books from his bag before dropping it onto the floor and slipping into his seat. “hadn’t planned on it, no. i don’t really have anyone to go with.”

niall snorts, rolling his eyes. “how about me?” he says, like it’s the most obvious assumption in the world. “all my mates are on the team, anyway. i need some company on the sidelines.”

harry smiles at him, feeling his chest swell a bit. “yeah, okay.”

“awesome,” niall replies, smiling back at him. “i’ll pick you up around 7:00, alright? just text me your address.”

harry nods, unable to wipe the smile off his face. he’s not sure why he’s so excited; he has friends. well, he has liam. but he’s never exactly been a socialite and the prospect of hanging out with niall makes him kind of giddy.

his giddiness only worsens when a familiar head of wispy brown hair makes its way into his line of vision. louis’s clad in white skinny jeans and a red t-shirt that harry thinks would probably look stupid on anyone else, but it clings to his form perfectly and harry feels his face flush with the knowledge that he just checked out louis’ ass with niall’s eyes still trained on his own face. oops.

the bell rings, jolting harry from his straying thoughts, and the boy in front of him immediately turns around, face lit up in what harry’s starting to consider his trademark smirk. he grins back, taking a deep breath to (attempt to) keep his cool, and passes his extra pen to louis.

as usual, the blue-eyed boy sticks it into his mouth and looks at him for a moment before turning back to face the front of the room where mr. cardle is preparing for today’s class.

and, as usual, harry lets out a pent up breath and wonders when this stupid little obsession will end.

because it is an obsession, he’d decided. he’s not sure if he’d come to the conclusion after spending another class staring aimlessly at the back of his head, or the other morning when he’d very shamefully gotten off to the mental image of the other boy on his knees (he hadn’t meant to think it, alright? but once you’ve got your hand wrapped around your dick it’s not exactly like you can control where your thoughts wander, is it?) but nonetheless, harry’s well aware that he’s developed a crush equivalent to that of a twelve year old girl’s.

what really worries him (okay, everything about this worries him a bit, but still) is the fact that he’s yet to have his ‘big gay freak-out’ like everyone always seems to go through on telly. he’s totally cool with the prospect of liking guys (though he still thinks he likes girls - he can’t really focus on anything other than louis to really put it to the test, though), and he feels like that’s probably a bit abnormal, because shouldn’t he be a little bothered? or surprised? or something? he’d considered talking to his mum about it, but then he thought back to ‘get his number!’ and remembered that he’s never talking to her again. ever.

so he shrugs it off. louis’ ass is more important than a sexuality crisis right now, anyway. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“can i paint your face?” 

harry frowns at the girl in front of him and suddenly remembers why he never made it a habit to go to school functions. 

“uh, no thanks,” he replies, glancing at niall beside him. the boy grins.

“c’mon, harry! where’s your school spirit?”

harry pouts at him, then at the girl, whose paintbrush is already swirling around in the riverdell school orange. “i’ll cheer really loud,” he bargains, trying not to beg. the girl raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

when they had arrived at the field just a few minutes ago niall had immediately dragged him to the front row of bleachers to sit down, and harry is internally cursing him for it now, because there’s no way he missed the cheerleader gliding down their row with a paintbrush and the girl’s just not taking no for an answer. actually, she’s kind of glaring at him.

“fine. jesus.”

the girl perks up and harry flinches when he feels the cold press of a wet orange and white stripe on each cheek before smiling at him widely and moving onto the poor bloke beside him. niall’s cackling. 

“why didn’t she do you?” harry hisses indignantly, already itching to wash the ridiculous paint off his face. 

“well, that’s the thing, harry,” niall says, grinning cheekily. “she , uh, did. she doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

harry’s mouth forms a silent ‘o’ of understanding and he nods, ignoring the faint blush he feels forming under the paint on his cheeks and turning around to scan the crowd. the bleachers are filling relatively quickly. “i didn’t know people actually came to these things,” he says, turning back around to face niall. 

the boy shrugs, rummaging through his bag until he finds a pack of haribo and pulling it out. the kid had brought a full fucking school bag of junk food to a two hour football game. “they never used to be, i don’t think,” he explains, ripping open the bag and holding it out to harry, who takes a few. “no one likes going and watching their school lose, christ, it’s embarrassing. but the team’s actually pretty good this year. i blame tommo.”

“tommo?”

niall tilts his head to the side, confused. “c’mon, you know tommo. tomlinson. louis. he’s the guy from chem who makes you turn all red and glossy eyed by asking for a pen every day.”

harry chokes on his handful of haribo. like, actually chokes. “shit,” niall mutters, patting his back. “jesus, harry, are you all right?”

harry holds up a hand, ceasing his coughing fit and swallowing his mouthful thickly. “i don’t go all red and glossy eyed!” he protests in a croak, completely aware that his reaction has already totally given him away.

niall stares at him for a second before nodding his understanding. “right, sunburn,” he remembers, grinning. “a sunburn that only comes out to play whenever he looks at you.”

harry swallows, looking down. his goddamn stupid face is burning and he kind of wants to run away or something. he feels the big gay freak-out coming up like bile. it’s different talking about it to somebody else. 

“oh my god, relax harry. i won’t tell anybody,” niall assures, nudging him gently with his elbow. 

“i’m not even gay,” harry says quietly, unsure as to why why he feels the need to defend himself. it’s stupid and he knows it, but he can’t help it.

niall shrugs. “i don’t care, mate.”

harry feels a rush of affection toward his new friend and meets his eyes, feeling his lips tug into a genuine smile.

and then he continues, “i think i’d probably go gay for bieber,” and harry lets out a loud and unabashed laugh before covering his mouth with his hand, eyes shining. niall smiles, like that was the reaction he was hoping for. and seeing as harry visibly relaxes back into his seat, tension gone, it probably was. 

and then the team wanders onto the field and harry’s breath hitches, because louis fucking tommo or whatever is wearing shorts and his legs are insane. and his arm is lifted over his head and he’s stretching and this was a really, really bad idea. 

“holy fuck, relax, harry,” niall mutters beside him, having felt him stiffen. 

“i’m relaxed,” harry argues, and niall scoffs because harry doesn’t even look at him, unable to stop his eyes from following louis’ movements. so the younger boy definitely notices, then, when louis looks up and catches him staring.

he grins a little, looking at him in a way that almost makes it seem like he’s sizing him up, and then winks (he fucking winks) and turns away, bending down in another stretch and don’tlookathisassharry.

okay, so maybe he’s not so relaxed. 

safe to say he’s freaking out a bit, actually. 

“i’d say he’s about as not interested as you are,” says niall, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

after the game - or two hours of louis catching harry staring, repeatedly, and sending a little smirk or a wink or a wave his way each time - harry finds himself in the loo, scrubbing furiously at his face. he told niall he’d meet him in the car in five minutes, because the paint was kind of scratchy and he really just wanted it off. but mostly he just feels like an idiot.

“are you following me?”

harry jumps, spinning around to face the source of the sudden voice. louis grins at him and oh, of course it’s louis. of fucking course.

he takes a deep breath, calming. “are you flirting with me?” he rebuttals boldly, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. he remembers niall’s words - ‘i’d say he’s about as not interested as you are’ - and he’s not sure if they’re supposed to help him calm down, but his heart only hammers harder in his chest.

louis’ own eyebrows raise in return and he grins impossibly wide. “touchè.”

harry grins back, determined not to let his nerves show. the sudden realization that this is really the only conversation they’ve had the opportunity to have that’s not about pens hits him and he’s scared as hell he’s going to fuck up. and he can’t believe he’s actually going for it, but. well. he guesses he is. “so is that a yes, then?” 

louis bites his lip, pondering. he rakes his gaze up and down the length of harry’s body twice before he settles on his eyes again, and harry’s face is burning by the time he does. “i don’t think so,” he says quietly, his own eyes glistening. “you’re not really my type.”

“oh, yeah?” harry asks, and his voice is soft, scared he’ll lose his nerve or break the sudden thickness that had settled over the bathroom at the other boy’s arrival if he speaks too loudly. “and what is your type, then?”

louis takes a step closer and fuckfuckfuck, harry is in way over his head with this conversation, feels way out of his element; he knows he should just give the guy another fucking pen or something and leave, forfeit, but he can’t. he feels an excitement coursing through his veins that’s never been there before and he realizes with a jolt that it’s not necessarily the situation that’s overwhelming him (though this is assuredly totally new) but the boy himself. _he_ makes harry feel out of his element.

and harry fucking loves it, is feeding off it, whether he’s blushing like a schoolgirl or not.

“well, for one thing, i tend to go for the older ones,” louis says, taking another step forward. “you’re a bit young.”

harry clenches a sweaty fist, biting his lip. “yeah? what else?”

“blondes,” louis replies, not missing a beat. “i like blonde hair. straight, too. curls are overrated.”

harry nods slowly, forcing himself to hold louis’ gaze. he reaches a hand up to his own hair, twirls a finger around one of the loose curls. “s’that it?” he asks, resisting the instinct to take a step back when louis takes another one towards him, definitely invading his personal bubble. he finds, unsurprisingly, that he doesn’t particularly mind.

louis shakes his head. “i like girls,” he says. 

okay. harry licks his lips and louis’ eyes follow the movement and shit, he’s feeling a bit lightheaded. “girls are nice,” he agrees simply.

“mhm,” louis hums. “and i believe you have a dick.”

harry nearly chokes. “if i remember correctly.” jesus christ, they’re talking about his dick.

louis nods, licking his own lips. “so you can imagine the fact that i find myself thinking that i’d not really mind sucking it is a bit confusing to me, yeah?”

harry does choke then, his face getting actually uncomfortably hot, no longer just from embarrassment. way to be blunt. “oh, fuck,” he breathes, unable to say anything else, because there’s no way this is actually happening - this is a dream. a really fucking fantastic, really fucking vivid dream, and he knows it’s lame as hell to actually _think_ that, but he does.

louis grins, slyly this time. “where’s all the cheek gone, harry?” he asks quietly, and harry can feel his breath hot across his face, relishes in the way his name sounds on louis’ lips. “nothing to say to that?”

he reaches out and touches the curl harry had played with himself a moment ago, tugging on it slightly and watching it spring back into place when he lets go. harry can do nothing but look at him, blinking stupidly, eyes wide. his fists are clenched so hard it hurts and he swallows hard in anticipation - for _what?_ he doesn’t even know.

but then louis is stepping back and harry feels suddenly colder, everywhere except for his cheeks and his neck, which are still burning harshly. “i’ll see you in class,” he says, grin in place. like nothing happened, like this is a totally normal situation. and maybe it is, what the hell does harry know? “thanks for the pens.”

and then he’s gone.

harry stares after him for a moment before turning to the sink behind him and running it cold, full blast; he cups his hands under the flow until they’re full and splashes his burning face, wondering what the fuck louis tomlinson is playing at and where he can learn the rules.


	4. Part Four

harry tells niall everything monday at school. he had shrugged off his “what took you so long?” when he’d gotten to the car five minutes after the bathroom incident, and the subject was well avoided all weekend via their texts.

but by monday he’s antsy and his eyes are skitting around the room and when niall asks, “jesus, mate, are you high or something?” the story just spills out of his mouth in a panicked rush - because the thought of seeing louis again _has_ got him panicked. it was bad enough when harry had a quiet little infatuation from his spot at the back of the chemistry classroom, but now he can barely force himself to stay in his seat. his mum (who he’d told a mildly censored version of the story) had literally pushed him out the door that morning, telling him it was no big deal and that he needed to ‘man up’. he thinks that’s probably some form of child abuse or something, but he’s got more important things to worry about right now than his abusive mother.

“wait, let me get this straight…” niall is saying now, a look of confusion on his face. “he said he wanted to suck you off?”

“no!” harry protests, burying his face in his hands. “no, niall. he never said that.”

“but you said-“

“i said he said he wouldn’t mind. there’s a difference.”

niall is staring at him with skeptical eyes when he looks up a moment later. “isn’t this a good thing?” he asks. “mate, just drag him off to some storage closet and get on with it, christ!”

“niall!” harry hisses, face burning. “you can’t just _say_ that!”

“oh, what, so now you’re mr. pure?” niall laughs, shaking his head. “you’re probably thinking way worse, so-”

“what are we talking about, lads?”

harry freezes at the voice and watches as niall’s light chuckle turns into a full-on hardy laugh and he throws his head back - but before he can get too into it he’s cuts off by harry kicking him under the desk.

“ow,” he mutters, straightening up. his eyes still look amused. “fuck, harry.”

“yeah, well,” harry says quietly, taking a deep breath and looking up at louis, who’s got an eyebrow raised.

“am i interrupting something?”

“no,” replies harry, but he guesses his voice comes out in more of a squeak than anything, because he hears niall stifle another laugh from beside him. prick.

“good,” says louis. he eyes the empty seat beside harry and - oh god. oh, god. “mind if i sit there?” he asks, grinning.

harry shakes his head, having embarrassed himself enough with the use of his voice, and louis’ grin widens as he drops his bag and slips into the seat beside harry that had been unoccupied for weeks. harry stares awkwardly at his desk.

“how was your weekend?” louis asks casually, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms lazily. “besides friday night, i mean.”

harry sucks in a breath at the mention of friday and shrugs a stiff shoulder. “a bit boring, actually,” he says, and his voice only cracks a little. he’ll take it as a victory.

“yeah?” louis replies. “me too, i suppose.” he yawns dramatically and harry watches as he stretches his arms over his head, shirt tightening around his chest. it rides up a bit, exposing the waistband of his boxers, and—

“you’re staring, dickhead,” a distinct irish accent whispers in his ear, and harry turns scarlet (though it’s not as if he wasn’t already aware, thanks), turning to face the board just as the bell rings.

it’s not until mr. cardle’s already well finished with attendance and moving onto the beginning of what’s sure to be a wonderfully riveting lecture that a very different voice breaths into his other ear.

“pen?” is all he says, and jesus, how does he manage to make pen sound sexy?

a shiver runs down harry’s spine and he turns to him, surprised at just how close the other boy’s face is. he slides a pen onto his desk silently and louis nods his thanks.

“i changed my mind, by the way,” he says quietly, picking up the pen and nibbling gently at the top.

harry knits his brows together in confusion. “about what?”

louis watches, none-too-subtley, as his mouth forms the words before he raises his eyes to meet harry’s again, grinning devilishly. “i’ve decided that i’m definitely, definitely flirting with you,” he says bluntly, unflinchingly.

harry blinks at him and sputters out a cough, lifting a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. louis watches the display with twinkling eyes before continuing, “you know, in case you were wondering.”

harry nods jerkily, feeling the corner of his own mouth curve into a hesitant crooked grin. “well, i guess that’s good to know, then,” he says breathily, letting his hand fall to his side again. his stomach’s lurching. “i’ll keep it in mind.”

“i hope you do,” replies louis, before he turns away to pull out his chem books. he’s still grinning, perfectly at ease and completely unaware that harry’s coming apart with jittery excitement right beside him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

the rest of the week passes in relatively the same way - harry gives louis a pen, louis mutters comments about the class into his ear (“do you reckon cardle’s balding?”) and niall gives him this amused little smile every time he looks his way, blushing and glossy eyed.

on friday afternoon, though, after the bell rings and they’re packing up their books, niall suddenly perks up as if he’s remembered something.

“harry! i almost forgot,” he starts, pushing in his chair. “zayn’s having a party tonight and we,” he gestures between harry and himself, raising his eyebrows in what harry thinks is meant to be persuasion, “are going.”

harry pauses in packing up his books and looks over at niall hesitantly, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “uhh,” he stalls, wrinkling his nose. he kind of wants to ask what niall means by ‘party’, because the last party he actually went to was a birthday party that included pointy hats and pin the tale on the donkey, and. well. that’s probably not what niall’s referring to. “i don’t know…”

niall pouts, and dear god. the kid’s got a set of puppy dog eyes to rival liam’s. “please?” he whines, blinking his overly rounded eyes at harry. “sean’s shit at parties because he always barfs, like, half an hour in, and josh has to work. you’re my last hope.”

harry swallows, his wonderings about the party having been inadvertently answered by niall’s ‘barfs half an hour in’ comment. “i don’t know, mate…” he repeats uncertainly.

“i’m gonna be there,” a voice - three guesses who - suddenly interjects, already several steps ahead of them. 

louis’s leaning against the doorframe of the now empty classroom, watching harry’s indecision with an amused expression.

“is that supposed to persuade me?” harry asks, allowing himself a small grin and reaching blindly for his schoolbag.

louis winks and harry fumbles picking up his bag. shit, he’s a weakling. “you tell me,” is all the older boy says, a challenging expression on his face.

harry swats niall in the arm, maybe a bit too hard, when he mutters a barely audible, “yes,” and then shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

“okay,” he says, speaking to niall but looking at louis, whose face lights up a bit. something akin to mischief is shining in his eyes and that same feeling of nervous anticipation swells in harry’s chest.

he swears half the time louis’s just taking the mick out of him. but as the days wear on it feels more and more like they’re teetering on some kind of precipice, waiting for something to happen to break the weird tension that harry feels every time he’s in the other boy’s presence.

“i’ll go,” he says again as confirmation, more to himself than anyone else.

“good,” louis says, biting his lip - fuck, he does that on purpose - and giving harry a once over for good measure before turning on his heel and slipping out the door.

when harry stops staring at the empty doorway and turns back to his friend, niall’s shaking his head in disbelief.

talk about fucking peer pressure, christ. his mum should be disappointed in him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

she’s not, of course.

“ooh, a party?” she asks, in something close to a coo. “my baby’s all grown up, isn’t he.”

“you don’t have to let me go,” harry says quickly, letting the baby comment slide and poking at his mother’s casserole with an uninterested fork. he thinks it smiles at him. “honestly, mum. i completely understand. i’m only, like, twelve—”

“harry, you can go,” his mother interrupts with a roll of her eyes. harry’s shoulders slump a bit. “also, you’re not twelve, love. you _shave_ , remember?”

harry frowns, more than likely blushing, and throws a piece of broccoli off his dinner plate at her.

“hey, eat your vegetables!” she scolds, easily ducking to evade his attack.

“they taste like plastic, mum,” he argues. “my plate is grinning at me,”

“oh, it is not,” she scoffs, taking a bite off her own fork and swallowing it thickly. her eyes water a bit. “don’t change the subject, anyhow. why don’t you want to go to the party?”

harry shrugs, considers waving at his plate to see if it waves back.

“does this have anything to do with the louis situation?” she asks knowingly, and harry looks at her skeptically.

“the ‘louis situation’?”’ he demands. “really? you make me regret telling you his name.”

“is he going to be there?” she continues, unperturbed. she’s dropped her fork by now, pushed her plate away in defeat.

harry sighs, relenting. “yes,” he mumbles, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“and this is a bad thing, because?” she asks, not cruelly. her head’s tilted to the side in genuine curiosity.

“because you raised a wretched excuse of a son who doesn’t deal well with sh - crap like this,” he says simply, glaring at her.

she looks like she’s trying not to laugh but, “you’ll do fine,” she encourages, standing up and taking their full plates with her. harry feels like he should be offended by the fact that she’s completely nonchalant about her only boy calling himself a ‘wretched excuse of a son.’ “now, you go get ready and i’ll order a pizza, deal?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

he’s hammered and it’s only half an hour in. 

when they had arrived at zayn’s niall had immediately glided over to the alcohol-filled table, grinning heartedly. “heaven,” he’d muttered, filling two glasses and shoving one in harry’s direction.

harry had tried to deny - really, he had - but niall had insisted. “have you ever even been drunk before?” he’d asked skeptically, throwing his own drink back, chugging it. harry winced. 

“what? i - of course i have!” harry had protested, and it wasn’t a lie exactly; but niall’s idea of ‘drunk’ probably varied a bit from that one time harry’s mum had gone out of town for the weekend and harry had convinced liam to drink a bottle of some kind of rum with him in the basement. (his mum had found out and found it hysterical.)

niall had rolled his eyes and harry had relented, chugging his drink and cringing at the strong taste. he’d thought niall would be satisfied, but then his glass had been filled again - and again, and again, and again. 

and now harry reckoned he was balancing somewhere between ‘shit faced’ and ‘really fucking shit faced’ and he only had the skipping irish kid to blame. (no, really, he’s been skipping since they got here. harry thinks it’s a party thing he’s yet to grasp onto. or maybe just a niall thing.)

now, though, the sound of cheering breaks niall’s stride and he stops. he throws back another glass of god-knows-what and begins to unthinkingly pull harry over to the commotion with a loose grip on his sleeve, stumbling to the edge of the crowd. he stands on his tiptoes (harry has no idea how, because he’s pretty sure if he tried that in his intoxicated state he’d break a few toes), craning his neck to see over peoples’ heads. he must like what he sees, because suddenly his mouth quirks up in a smirk and then he’s behind harry, pushing his pliant body to the front of the crowd with two hands on his waist.

harry can’t say he’s all too surprised when he emerges from the sweaty mass of bodies and sees a pretty blonde girl licking a stripe up another girl’s neck, but when he sees the lemon in her mouth he turns to niall, who’s grinning at the sight.

“what are they doing?” he asks over the music, proud when he phrases the question without slurring too horribly. the blonde girl finishes sucking at the other one’s throat and downs a shot quickly before pressing her mouth against her friend’s, licking over the lemon once before gripping it with her teeth and pulling it out.

“body shots, harry!” niall exclaims excitedly, squeezing his hips. his chin is resting on his shoulder - harry’s learning the hard way that niall’s a handsy drunk. “don’t tell me you don’t know what body shots are. fuck, they’re god’s greatest gift to man.”

harry only shakes his head, not really needing any more of an elaboration after having witnessed it - besides, ‘body shots’ is pretty self explanatory, he thinks.

he doesn’t even have time to dwell on how annoyingly innocent and inexperienced he must seem before someone else is stumbling into the circle of attention, fringe sticking to his forehead with sweat and blue eyes shining bright.

harry’s breath hitches.

because over the last few weeks, he’d like to think he’s gotten just a tad bit used to louis’ appearance. he can control his expression when the other boy stretches, shirt riding up to expose his flat stomach; he can keep his breathing steady when he sweeps his feathered fringe out of his eyes, blinking prettily in annoyance. he’s no pro, by any means, but he’s been sitting next to louis for days without feeling the totally constant urge to jump him.

all of that seems to be blown out the window now, though, because he’s absolutely floored. he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol thrumming through his own veins that’s got him itching to reach out and shove louis against the nearest wall, completely ravish him - be ravished by him - but he suspects that maybe it’s the alcohol clearly pumping through louis’ system, instead; because the older boy’s actually glowing, eyes more alive than harry’s ever seen them; he looks completely at home here, totally in his element, red cheeked and messy haired and fuck, harry knows he’s staring but he can’t be arsed to care.

the girl who’d just had a shot done off her is smiling at louis giddily and he thrusts the half empty bottle of straight vodka he’d been holding into zayn’s waiting hand, grins back at her simply - but his grin turns down right dirty when he lays eyes on harry behind her, who’s still staring with his mouth slightly ajar. 

“well, look who decided to show up!” he calls, yelling slightly to be heard over the music. he saunters over the few steps separating them and harry thinks his heart literally stops for a moment when louis’s suddenly standing directly in front of him, breath hot and sticky on his face. “do you want to play, harry?”

his words are lower and slightly slurred and harry can feel his sober (smart) self screaming at him in his head, telling him to sink back into the crowd, watch from afar, because being this drunk and this close to louis can’t be safe - but that part of him is completely overridden by the alcohol floating precariously through his body and harry finds himself nodding, accepting the hand that louis offers and letting himself be pulled out of niall’s grasp and to the couch at the center of the crowd. 

“looks like i persuaded you, then?” louis whispers in his ear when they get there. harry’s brain is fuzzy and all he can do in reply is nod, flushing all the way down to what’s got to be his toes. at least he can blame it on the alcohol. 

louis chuckles, pushes on his chest slightly. “sit down, harry,” he tells him, so harry sits. 

the other boy looks to his left and reaches both hands out, and the blonde girl from before immediately places a shot in one and a lemon and container of salt in the other, giggling. harry worries his heart may actually pound out of his chest and he’s fighting to keep his breathing steady.

the pretense of success on the steady breathing front is lost, though, when louis lowers himself down onto harry’s lap, fucking straddles him; he gives up on trying to force any regularity into his breathing and can’t even bring himself to give a shit about the fact that he’s probably panting like a - well, like a fifteen year old who has no idea what the hell he’s gotten himself into. 

when louis turns back to him his eyes are shining brightly and his own cheeks are flushed from what has to be the alcohol, because louis tomlinson does not _blush_. 

he grins down at him and wiggles his hips a bit, and harry has to bite his lip to keep from moaning, because holy shit - he opens his mouth, though, when louis lifts a lemon to it with a raised eyebrow. he lets the older boy place it between his teeth and shudders a bit when louis’ fingertips accidentally brush against his lips as he does so.

and then louis leans down (not without sparing another sloppy wink for the near trembling boy beneath him) and licks a slow, thick stripe up his neck. it takes everything harry has not to let out a pathetic little whimper at the sensation. 

he sighs shakily around the lemon between his lips when louis pulls back to grin at him, sprinkling a bit of salt onto the wet trail of saliva he’d left on harry’s pinked flesh. he stares at him for a second too long before he leans back down and begins sucking the salt off of his neck, tongue hot against the sensitive skin, and in that moment of eye contact harry swears he sees louis’ eyes visibly darken; turn a deeper, dangerous shade of blue.

he continues sucking and licking at harry’s neck long after all the salt’s gone, has one hand fisted in his sweaty curls for leverage. harry lets his own hands travel from where they’re placed on the couch on either side of him to rest on louis’ thighs, and when he does louis jerks his hips a bit in what harry refuses to let himself consider grinding - but that doesn’t stop it from having the same effect.

“shit,” he feels, rather than hears, the other boy mutter against his neck. he’s quite inclined to agree.

the hand in his hair tightens suddenly when louis comes up from his ministrations at harry’s neck, smacking his lips together once and tipping the shot in his other hand back into his mouth, unflinching - and harry knows what comes next, can clearly see the girls from only a few minutes ago playing this out in his head, but he still digs his fingers into louis’ thighs when his mouth is suddenly hovering just above his own. 

louis stays there for a second, breathing into harry’s face, before swiftly ducking down and dragging his tongue along the lemon in the other boy’s mouth. he lets out a shaky, breathless laugh when harry’s grip on his thighs tightens to a point that’s probably painful and does it again - and, whether it’s on purpose or because he’s drunk and sloppy, harry can feel louis’ tongue warm and wet against his lips around the lemon and his brain is definitely no longer only fuzzy from the alcohol. 

he does actually let out a whimper that only the boy on top of him can hear when louis sinks his teeth into the fruit and pulls it out of harry’s mouth, eyes grinning at him as he sucks gently at the lemon for a moment before dropping it carelessly to the floor with the previously discarded shot glass. 

they stay like that for a minute; looking at each other, heavy breaths mingling, before louis breaks the silence. 

“your turn, then?” he asks hoarsely, using a thumb to swipe away the moisture he’d left on harry’s upper lip. 

well - okay. harry sucks in a deep breath for confidence before nodding slowly; he trails one of the hands he has on louis’ thigh up to the hem of the older boy’s t-shirt and leans forward to mutter (hopefully not as shakily as he feels) in his ear, “they don’t have to be done off the neck, do they?” 

louis’ breath hitches and - fuck, louis’ _breath_ hitches. harry makes louis’ fucking breath hitch. but he just shakes his head, looking down at him with still darkening eyes. 

harry can’t help it, the vodka’s given him nerve and he’s suddenly grinning, despite the fact that he’s still trembling and pretty sure he’s half hard. “well,” he starts, and it’d probably have a bit more of an affect if his voice wasn’t stupidly quiet, protesting against the repeated words. “where’s all the cheek gone, louis?”

he feels a shiver run down louis’ spine and the boy nuzzles into harry’s neck, nipping at the skin he finds there briefly before moving to whisper hotly in his ear - and it feels kind of like a competition, now, one that louis will undoubtedly win. “shut up,” is all he says, and then he’s leaning back to slip his shirt off in a motion far too graceful for their current drunken stupor. 

the weight on his lap disappears as louis shuffles to the other end of the couch, laying down with his head propped up on the armrest. his legs are bent and open just wide enough for harry to squeeze between. “come on, then,” louis says, so harry does, finding it hard to disobey his lighthearted commands. he’ll blame that on the alcohol, too. 

he rests on his knees between louis’ legs, blushing to the roots of his hair at the position, and looks out to the crowd he’d half forgotten was there to hand him what he needs - instead of putting salt and a shot in his hands like they did before, though, the blonde from earlier places another lemon slice into louis’ mouth and kneels in front of his stomach, shot in hand. 

harry must look confused because she grins at him brightly, bringing her tongue out to wet her lips. “just lick it up before it wets his trousers,” she tells him and - fuck, okay. 

louis’s looking up at him and harry meets his gaze, swallowing thickly - he thinks he must have used all his adrenaline on the ‘cheek’ comment, because his fingers are shaking again as he rests them on louis’ knees for balance.

“ready?” the girl asks, and harry nods, bending forward a bit. 

and then she’s pouring the shot on louis’ stomach and harry leans down the rest of the way quickly, licks at the vodka pooling around louis’ navel. louis’ muscles jump under his tongue and harry moves his hands to grip at his waist, instead, holding him gently in place. 

some liquid trails down to louis’ trousers when the boy takes a deep, shaky breath and harry chases it with his mouth, meets the top of his pants a second too late - so he slips his tongue beneath the hem slightly, running it across the beginnings of louis’ happy trail to collect whatever alcohol had escaped there.

louis jerks a bit and brings his hands down to tangle in harry’s hair, keeping him from lifting his head - not that he was planning on it - but still giving him free reign to let his mouth travel across his torso. and this is, well - fuck, harry’s tongue is numb and he’s sure his lips are red and puffy and when he glances up at louis from beneath his lashes, louis looks like he’s biting back a moan around the lemon; he throws his head back and pulls slightly at harry’s curls, chest heaving, and this is easily the most erotic experience of harry’s life. (which isn’t saying much, but who’s counting?) 

when there’s no vodka left on louis’ body and harry’s tongue is burning he sits back up slowly. louis’ hands fall from his hair and land on his own stomach and he runs them across the damp stickiness that harry’s mouth had left there, looking up at him slyly - and that’s when harry remembers the lemon. 

he crawls over louis’ body until he’s settled between his legs again with his hands holding him up on either side of his shoulders; until his face is hovering above the older boy’s, chests almost touching. before he can remove the lemon, though, louis reaches up and flips it around, sucking all the juice out and then throwing it carelessly to the ground to join the other one. 

harry raises his eyebrows in question for a moment until louis reaches up to grip the back of his neck and realization dawns on him, and before he can even work himself up about it louis’s capturing his mouth in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. 

as soon as their lips meet me shoves his lemon juice coated tongue into harry’s mouth and harry only hesitates for a moment before sucking on it gently, completely unprepared for the burning heat that shoots straight down his torso and curls pleasantly in his stomach. 

louis’ legs wrap around his waist and both hands delve into his sticky hair, tugging him closer and licking thoroughly into his mouth and harry’s on fucking cloud nine, his entire body is buzzing - until he hears the faint shatter of glass and a bit of laughing. it comes from far away, probably not even in the same room as them, but it’s enough to push through harry’s muddled brain and remind him that they’re actually laying on a couch in front of half of sixth form and - yeah, well, shit. 

he pulls back, thinking he should probably be a bit disgusted by the trail of saliva that connects his and louis’ mouth briefly when in reality it just makes the pit of his stomach burn hotter, and looks down at louis with wide, glassy eyes. 

the older boy just smirks that fucking smirk before dislodging his fingers from harry’s hair and pushing gently on his chest as a signal for him to get up. he does, steadying himself on shaky legs and watching as louis wipes at his wet mouth with his shirt before slipping it back on. 

“who’s next?” he asks, voice raspy as he stands up himself.

harry looks at the crowd around him and is pleased to find that no one’s really looking too perturbed - on the contrary, actually; besides a few flushed faces no one seems to have found the display to be anything out of the ordinary. drunk teenagers being stupid.

his eyes land on louis again and the boy’s already backing up, slipping to the edge of the crowd. he licks his lips and shakes his head in what looks like disbelief before he’s swallowed by the throng of people and harry’s left there alone, trying to catch his breath and convince himself that that actually just happened.

when he turns around to find niall he’s standing right there, shit eating grin gracing his bright red face. “you are so fucked.” 

harry thinks he’s pretty much right.


	5. Part Five

when harry wakes up he’s pretty sure he’s dead. his head is pounding and his clothes are sticking to him in the worst ways possible and - what the fuck is on top of him?

he cracks one eye open just long enough to catch a glimpse of a mat of blonde hair cuddled into the too-thick blanket on his chest before he shuts it again tightly, wincing at the pain that shoots through his skull with the sunlight glowing around the the room - his room, he realizes, which he sure as hell doesn’t remember entering.

he’s about to just sod it and try his go at sleep again, deal with this later, when suddenly his stomach is churning and—

“fuck,” he croaks, sitting up quickly. he wriggles out from under niall (at least he hopes the blonde-haired lug on top of him is niall, because if not he should probably be a bit worried) and stumbles as fast as he can out of his bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, where he falls harshly to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to cough up a good chunk of last night’s extremities.

it’s then that he realizes he’s not actually dead, because surely whatever happens after death isn’t this cruel. shouldn’t he be hopping around on some clouds or something? shit, maybe he’s in hell.

“how about some tea?” a voice asks, and - okay, so maybe this isn’t hell after all, because tea.

he looks up at his mother blearily, blinking past his headache. “tylenol, too?” he asks hopefully, watching his mum with wide eyes as she comes to sit down in front of him, places the cup of tea on the floor by his side before pulling out a capsule of tylenol from her robe pocket. “i love you,” he says, and his voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to his own ears. “so, so much.”

anne laughs. “i love you too, harry,” she says fondly, ruffling his hair as he swallows a pill. “how was the party?”

“i can’t remember,” he says, taking a sip of the tea and sighing a little in relief at the familiar, comforting taste. “i don’t really remember coming home, either.”

anne raises an eyebrow. “you came home in a cab with that irish kid around 3:00,” she tells him. then her face breaks into a grin. “do you remember how you got those, then?” she points to his neck and harry looks down and - well, it’s his neck, he can’t see it.

“get what?” he asks, still trying in vain to view his own neck. “what is it?”

anne reaches a hand up and grabs her makeup bag from the counter beside them, pulls out a flippy mirror and passes it to him. harry opens it with unsteady, hungover fingers and aims it at his neck and - and he actually nearly chokes on his own tongue.

“oh my god,” he breathes, reaching up to run his fingers over one of the dark love bites on his neck as memories of last night start flooding his already sensitive head, memories of body shots and louis’ tongue and louis’ teeth and - “oh my god.”

his mother watches him, amused, as he traces the sensitive skin on his neck, counting - there’s seven. he’s got seven fucking love bites on his neck. the less serious part of his mind wonders excitedly if he left any on louis, but he ignores it and groans, dropping his hands to his sides.

“so who was it, then?” his mum asks, grinning slyly.

“who was it?” harry repeats incredulously - and really, he doesn’t know why he’s incredulous. he figures he should probably be used to her lack of any normal motherly tendencies by now. “shouldn’t you be asking more concerned-parent like questions, like ‘you didn’t knock some poor girl up, did you?’ or ‘sweetie, what about herpes?’?”

his mum’s giving him that painfully annoying ‘wow, my son is a lunatic’ look and it’s really not helping harry’s headache. “well, i don’t think you impregnating any girls is really an issue right now, love,” she says, grinning, and harry’s mouth drops open a little at the teasing comment. “as for herpes… do you have anything you want to tell me?”

“i don’t have herpes.”

“well, that’s good. i was worried.” harry scowls at her. “now where’d the bruises come from? are you starting up some kind of love bite collection?”

“more fun than stamps,” harry mutters, and yeah, okay, so he’s pretty much just stalling, but he refuses to tell his mother anything more about the - the ‘louis situation’. he cringes internally at the phrase. his entire life is an embarrassment. 

his mum stands up then, shaking her head in amusement (why is everything so damn funny to her?) and harry thinks maybe he’s gotten away with avoiding answering when niall stumbles in, rubbing sloppily at his eyes. when he draws his hand away he immediately focuses in on harry’s admittedly very eye-catching coloured neck and—

“jesus, mate,” he chuckles, voice thick with sleep and excertion. “good ol’ tommo got you good, didn’t he?”

“tommo?” anne asks immediately, grinning. “louis?”

harry groans again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “niall, you useless irish twat.”

“i knew it!” he hears his mother clap her hands in delight and feels a hand ruffle his hair again. “i’m anne, by the way.”

harry looks up at this and his mum’s reaching out and shaking niall’s hand. niall smiles at him over his mum’s shoulder before flicking his eyes to meet hers. “niall,” he says. “you’re - harry’s mum?”

“no,” harry replies instantly. “i was switched at birth.”

they both ignore him. alright, ouch.

anne nods. “don’t look old enough, do i?” she jokes, dropping his hand and walking to the doorway, hopefully to make more tea.

“not at all,” niall says with a wink and - wait, a wink?

“niall, stop hitting on my mum!” he scolds, but his mother is laughing, clearly charmed. she shakes her head once and grins back at harry.

“i like this one,” she tells him, and then she’s gone.

niall turns to him, still grinning. “dude, your mum is an absolute—”

“don’t.”

niall only shakes his head, sits down in front of him. “thanks for letting me crash here,” he starts. “i’m at my mum’s this week and she would’ve skinned me alive if i came back wasted.”

harry just shrugs, actually not recalling the conversation in which he told niall he could stay over. “it’s no problem,” he says honestly. then, “thanks for telling my mum louis tomlinson littered my neck with love bites, though.”

niall freezes, genuine concern lacing his features for a moment. “oh, god,” he says. “does she know you’re—”

“she knows everything,” harry says truthfully, and niall lets out a breath of relief. “you’re still a dick, though.”

“yeah, i know,” he replies. they sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the tylenol finally starting to kick in, before niall says conversationally, “so, you’ve slobbered over a good percentage of louis’ body. how’re you feeling about that?”

harry raises his eyebrows at niall’s choice of words but shrugs again, swallowing thickly. he really, really doesn’t want to think about that. ever.

it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy thinking about the experience itself - actually, he’s probably going to enjoy the memory maybe a bit too much when he gets around to showering - it’s the thought of monday that’s got him biting down on his lip in stress. and excitement. shit, definitely in excitement.

“you’re grinning, harry,” says niall, letting out a loud cackle that makes harry’s head pound. “that good, huh?”

“shut up,” he mutters, gripping niall’s shoulder to steady himself as he stands up and heads for the door. “if i feed you will you drop it?”

niall rises to his feet immediately, stumbling a bit in his haste. harry bites back a smile - he could get used to this. niall, that is. “christ, mate,” the blonde boy mutters, following him from the room. “i had no idea you knew me so well.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

niall’s on his third bowl of cereal when his mum strolls into the kitchen, fully dressed, which is weird for her day off - normally she lazes around in footie pajamas until at least noon.

“all dressed up with nowhere to go?” harry asks, chewing idly at a piece of toast. unlike niall, who’s going at it full throttle, he’s not sure how much food he can really hold down right now.

anne chuckles lightly. “karen’s coming over for a bit. we’ve got a few papers from work to go over,” she explains, and harry nods, unsurprised - karen is liam’s mum and works for the same company as his mother. he’s still trying to work up the courage to swallow that same bite of toast when anne adds, “she’s bringing liam, too.”

she says it casually, maybe even a bit cheerfully, but harry immediately freezes - liam. oh, god, liam.

right, so it’s not that harry’s been avoiding him, per se, it’s just that they’re in different years now and they’ve both been busy and - shit, okay, maybe he’s been avoiding him a little.

“what’s the matter, sweetie?” his mother is asking, and harry shakes his head, trying to calm down. “you haven’t seen liam in weeks.”

“he, um,” harry swallows the soggy toast in his mouth, throwing niall a sideways glance. “he doesn’t know about - you know, i haven’t told him that i’m—”

“gay?” niall supplies, not looking up from the newspaper he’d helped himself to.

harry chokes a bit. “yeah, that.”

and he doesn’t even know why - it’s not a big deal, right? he’d told his mum, and it’d been fine; he’d told niall (well, not really, but still) and he’d hardly known him and that’d been fine. louis obviously knows, too, and that’s - well, that’s that. and liam is his best friend, it’s not like he’d shun him or anything.

“oh,” his mum says, looking confused. “why not?”

harry only shrugs. “dunno,” he mutters, because there’s really no other reason than that he just doesn’t want liam to know, doesn’t want liam’s opinion of him to change. he’d been his only friend for years and he really, really doesn’t want to fuck that up.

though more or less avoiding him for weeks (apart from the occasional  
text) is admittedly probably not doing a very good job of not fucking it up, he thinks. he can still hang out with him and not tell him, right?

he suddenly feels kind of guilty about the fact that his mind’s been more occupied with louis lately than liam, that this whole issue is really only coming up now.

“it’s alright, harry,” his mum tells him, walking over to squeeze his shoulder gently. “it makes sense to not be comfortable with everyone knowing just yet, i think. you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

harry nods. he’d kissed a guy in front of at least fifty people last night, but his mother had said it herself, right? it makes sense to not want everyone to know yet. this is normal.

so liam won’t know, then. easy as that. he was stupid for avoiding him, really - his sexuality doesn’t exactly come into question daily. the topic is perfectly avoidable. and it’s not like he’s lying or anything - right, he can totally do this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“i’m gay.”

well, shit.

liam’s barely opened harry’s bedroom door - he’s shrugging off his coat when harry more or less pukes up the words and he freezes with one arm in and one arm out, looks at him with comically wide eyes and raised brows.

“uh,” his best friend says after a moment of eye contact with harry, in which the only sound in the room is niall’s awful attempt at concealing his laughter. “hi.”

“hey, liam,” replies the slightly younger boy quietly, blushing to the roots of his curls. “long time no see, huh?”

liam nods, eyes still wide with confusion as he continues slipping off his jacket slowly. “what did you say?” he asks, faux casual, and dammit - this isn’t exactly what harry had planned.

“i think i said i’m gay,” harry confirms, swallowing thickly. “as in i like boys. and stuff.” he’s not sure what ‘stuff’ entails, but okay.

liam doesn’t say anything. oh, god.

“and by ‘i think’, i mean - yeah, i definitely just said i’m gay.”

the brown eyed boy nods again before plopping down on harry’s stupid lime beanbag chair that he hasn’t had the heart to throw out since his grandfather got it for him for him last christmas. “thought so,” he says, nodding. “that’s, uh - nice?” he says, then seems to wince a little at how that sounds. his eyes shift to niall, like he’s only just noticed him. “i mean - yeah, okay. gay. is this—?” he chokes out, still eyeing niall. 

harry’s own eyes widen in understanding and he looks to his irish friend quickly, who’s sprawled out on the other side of harry’s bed; the blonde boy sputters and coughs a bit at the accusation, turning bright red. “oh my god, you mean - no, he’s not my - ew!” harry chokes out, sitting up abruptly. “no, liam! i don’t - no!”

“okay, okay,” liam says, holding his hands up in surrender. “innocent mistake, sorry.”

harry takes a deep breath. right, innocent mistake. at least he hasn’t run away yet. “i’ll consider forgiving you, i suppose,” he mutters lightly, and liam cracks a bit of a smile.

“good,” he replies, smile widening as he nods for no reason. “so who is it, then?” he asks, gesturing to niall. “where are your manners? introduce us.” well, that was easy - harry grins at him, feeling like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders that he hadn’t even been aware he’d been bearing.

“this is niall,” he says, and niall sits up, still a little pink in the face. “my friend. niall, this is liam.”

“hey, mate,” niall offers up a wave and a smile, and harry thinks back to a few weeks ago, when he was on the receiving end of that friendly smile for the first time. niall’s got a way of making people feel comfortable, he figures - other than when he purposely tries to make you uncomfortable, that is, which is becoming more and more frequent.

liam smiles back at him. “nice to meet you.”

“you, too,” says niall, and that’s that.

liam asks him a bunch of questions about sixth form and how his sister gemma’s doing at university and basically everything under the sun that has absolutely no relation to harry’s sexuality whatsoever; it’s not like he’s tiptoeing around it, either, it’s just that he seems to be satisfied without any more of an explanation, and harry kind of wants to kiss him for it - wait, no, dammit. not like that. he’s just really grateful, alright?

and he’d thought being in both niall and liam’s presence would be weird, because they come from completely different parts of his life, but the two get on surprisingly well. niall maintains a steady place in the flow of conversation, like they’ve all been friends for years, and harry finds himself smiling just for the hell of it.

it’s nice, he thinks. like, really nice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

monday isn’t so nice - depending on how you look at it.

harry’s rearranging his hands in various positions around his neck, trying to find a way to conceal the love bites in a way that’ll look half casual. fuck, shouldn’t they be gone by now? it’d been days.

“harry, stop it,” niall scolds, grinning at him.

harry drops his arms obediently, pouting at niall for a moment before reaching up again and popping the collar of his white shirt.

“i can still see them,” his friend sing-songs, and harry’s pout turns into a glare.

“you’re not helping,” he tells him sternly. “actually, i think you’re making it worse.”

“you’re overreacting,” niall shoots back, giving him some kind of look of significance. “he already sucked all over your neck, what’s so bad about him seeing the aftermath?”

harry groans, half at the mention in general and half at niall’s crude wording. “he was drunk. this is like some kind of awkward morning after - except, you know, not.”

niall grins. “harry, have you ever actually experienced an awkward morning after?”

harry rolls his eyes, ignoring the faint prickle that warms his cheeks. “i’m sure i can imagine,” he mutters.

minutes pass - minutes in which harry decidedly does not stare at the door - before the bell rings. the seat beside him’s still empty, and it’s still empty after cardle’s done doing attendance, and just when harry’s starting to relax a bit, the object of his discomfort finally slips through the door, unnoticed by mr. cardle.

he tiptoes back to his self-proclaimed seat beside harry while the curly haired boy busies himself with writing the notes the teacher is scribbling on the board, pointedly not looking up. he’s slumped his shoulders forward in an attempt to hide his neck, but judging by the sympathetic shake of niall’s head he catches out of the corner of his eye, it’s not working.

by the time louis actually reaches him and sits himself down, harry’s heart is hammering embarrassingly fast and he’s clenching his free fist rhythmically in an attempt to calm it down a little - christ, he’s a mess. it’s just - he doesn’t exactly know what to expect. this isn’t something that happens to him. like, ever.

when he feels louis’ fingertips brush his shoulder slightly he really has no  
choice but to look up, inhaling deeply. he meets louis’ amused eyes for only a moment before they flick down to his neck, grinning.

“not bad,” he mutters in approval. “where on earth did you manage to get those?”

harry feels the corner of his mouth tilt into a return grin despite the fact that he’s squirming in his seat. “can’t seem to recall,” he whispers back. “couldn’t have been that memorable, i guess.”

louis snorts and takes the pen harry offers him, eyes flitting back down to his neck once more before raking them bak up to his eyes. “you’re getting better at this,” he tells him.

before harry has a chance to ask what that means, the older boy’s ducking down to get his books, effectively ending the conversation, and harry feels the blush he’d been willing to stay away for the duration of the conversation spread across his neck and cheeks with a vengeance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“tomlinson and styles, can you stay back? i’d like to have a word.”

what the hell. harry freezes in the act of collecting his books and looks at niall, eyes wide with confusion. the irish lad looks equally confused but just claps him on the back and heads out of the room to his next class with a muttered, “see you, mate.”

he turns hesitantly towards louis, who’s got an eyebrow raised, and shrugs a shoulder slightly in response. he can think of literally no reasons as to why he and louis would be kept after class together, and his mind’s racing by the time the classroom has cleared out.

“hi, boys,” cardle says after a moment, as harry and louis stare at him in expectation.

“hi,” they chorus back - except not really chorus, because harry’s ‘hi’ comes out in a quiet croak and louis’ comes out in a confident - albeit bored - drawl. but harry figures it’s for show, because he looks just as confused and curious as harry feels.

“right, so,” cardle begins, walking around his desk to lean against the front of it. he strokes his stubble, contemplative. “i’m going to be quite blunt, here: louis, you’re failing.”

louis raises both eyebrows at that, and harry’s heart stutters - is that why he’s here? is he failing, too? he bites his lip. louis’s distracting, sure, but he’s not that distracting. harry thought he was doing pretty well in this class - naturally, he thought he was doing pretty well in every class.

“but i’ve got a C-, haven’t i?” louis is asking. “that’s a pass.”

“it is,” cardle agrees. “but you need at least a B- to play on any sports teams here, louis,” he continues, and harry watches as understanding dawns on louis’ face. “so i think, for the purposes you’re interested in, you’re failing.”

harry really kind of wants to ask why he’s here. what the hell has he got to do with football?

“normally i wouldn’t interfere like this, as i’m a firm believer that babying students with extra attention gives them no preparation for the real world that lies ahead. if this class was a job, louis, this surely wouldn’t be happening. you need to take responsibility for yourself, which includes making sure your work is up to par - but, well; i’d also like to win the football championship at least once before i retire,” he continues. “christ, we haven’t won since i was on the team, which was - a while ago, to say the least.”

“i’m not following,” says louis, crossing his arms. if harry wasn’t so confused as to why his presence was necessary for this conversation, he’d probably have taken a moment to admire how tight louis’ uniform sleeve stretched across his biceps as he did so.

“basically, you can’t be on the team unless your mark goes up, and the team can’t win unless you’re on it.”

okay, that’s it. harry’s curiosity finally gets the best of him and he finds himself blurting out an, “uh, sir? if you don’t mind me asking, what has this got to do with me?”

cardle and louis both turn to look at him, cardle smiling and louis looking nonchalant. “well, mr. styles,” his teacher begins. “you’ve got the highest mark in the class after only a couple weeks, believe it or not,” he tells him, and harry scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. okay, so he’s not failing, then. “and, if you’re both up for it, i was thinking that a diligent tutor would be an excellent way to get tomlinson’s mark up to a B-.”

harry stops scratching at his neck at the words and he swears his mouth drops open a bit. he looks to louis, whose blank expression has lit up into an elated smirk, and he feels an all too familiar blush spreading over his cheeks. “what?” 

“you’d get extra credit, of course!” cardle hurries on, and harry thinks that if this doesn’t go his way the man looks half prepared to beg. or bribe. “and it would look really, really good on a uni resume.”

suddenly there’s an arm wrapped around his waist. “he’d love to!” louis is saying, voice dripping with mirth. “this is a brilliant idea, mr. cardle. harry here’ll have my mark up in no time.”

harry still hasn’t said anything - he’s feeling a bit shell shocked. jesus, what are the odds? he swears the entire world is just fucking with him.

“are you up for it, harry?” cardle prompts, and harry feels himself nodding, forcing a smile.

“of course, mr. cardle,” he says, and the teacher’s shoulders seem to sag with relief. he’s way too aware of louis’ arm around his waist, toying playfully with the hem of his untucked shirt.

“thank you,” the man breathes, gliding over to place a hand on his shoulder. louis removes his arm from around him and steps back, undoubtedly still grinning, and cardle turns his attention to the other boy. “tomlinson, don’t give the kid a hard time,” he tells him, and louis snorts at the wording. harry’s cheeks are still burning.

“oh, wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, eyes wide as he looks at harry, who sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and shakes his head slightly. he finds that he’s biting back a bit of a grin. ”you’re doing me a massive favor, mate.”

“right. you two best be getting to class,” cardle says, clapping his hands together. “i’ll page the office to let them know your lateness is excused.”

the two boys nod and exit the classroom - not before cardle thanks harry at least three more times - and find themselves alone in the uncharacteristically quiet school hallway.

as soon as the door closes behind them louis turns to face him, still grinning. “well, that’s lucky, isn’t it?” he asks, and harry pauses a moment before shrugging.

“depends on what your definition of ‘lucky’ is,” he says, but the dig is completely overridden by the slight smile he finds himself slipping into.

louis laughs and harry feels his chest swell at having been the cause of it. “you should probably give me your number,” he says casually. “so we can get together and - you know, study.”

“uh - yeah, here.” he slips a hand into his bag and pulls out a pen, gesturing for louis to give him and arm. the older boy obliges, watching in amusement as harry scribbles out his number on louis’ hand.

“perfect,” he says. they’re kind of abnormally close and harry finds himself squirming a bit when louis’ eyes travel down to his neck again. “can i come over tomorrow, then? around 5:00?”

he thinks if anyone other than louis just invited themselves over he’d find it a bit rude, but he only nods, willing louis to look away from the bruises. “bring your - uh, your books and stuff,” he says quietly. he brings a hand self-consciously up to his neck and louis smirks, stepping back a bit.

“i’ll get your address later, then,” he says, walking backwards down the hall. “and stop getting all flustered about the love bites,” he tells him. harry thinks he must be trying to get him to blush at this point. “we match.”

harry raises a questioning eyebrow before louis rucks his shirt up a bit, exposing his flat stomach and - oh. oh, god.

his torso is littered with bruises to rival harry’s own, scattered all the way from the V of his hips to well above his belly button. harry’s mouth is suddenly really dry.

his expression must be amusing, because louis lets out another chuckle as he drops his shirt. “you’ve got a hell of a mouth, harry,” he says, before turning around and heading down the hall.

harry lets out another shaky breath and definitely doesn’t check out louis’ ass as he walks away.


	6. Part Six

harry’s antsy. he’d been antsy since he agreed to tutor louis, and it had gotten increasingly worse since their conversation in the hall. when louis texts him for his address later that day - louis texts him for his address because he’s coming over - harry has a hard time dealing with his jittery excitement at the simple indirect interaction and niall kickes him under the cafeteria table twice because he’s smiling at his phone from louis’ simple ‘so 5:00?’ and ‘see you then :)’ texts - and okay, he realizes he’s kind of pathetic, but, well. it is what it is. he’s getting kind of used to his own patheticness.

his nervous excitement only worsens when he’s in class and louis won’t stop whispering in his ear, breath hot and wet, and somehow the fact that he knows louis’s doing it on purpose - purposely looking for stupid things to comment on, purposely pressing his lips right against the shell of his ear - only makes it more satisfying, despite the fact that he still doesn’t understand why louis’s bothering with this, with him, in the first place.

that makes him kind of antsy, too.

but anyway, his nerves reach their absolute breaking point that evening about half an hour before louis is meant to show up, when his phone buzzes from its perch on the living room coffee table.

“who is it?” harry mutters distractedly, too lazy and caught up in his thoughts to lean forward from the couch and check it himself. besides, his mum’s closer. and it’s probably only niall trying to work him up even more with a text somewhere along the lines of, ‘30 minutes!!!’ because he’s an ass and that’s what he does.

his mum rolls her eyes at his unwillingness to move and picks up his phone, barely looking away from whatever ridiculous reality show she’s got on the telly - she says she watches them to make fun of, but harry knows she’s addicted. “louis tomlinson,” she mutters. harry’s eyes widen and his mum pauses, staring at the phone until realization seems to dawn and, “wait - louis tomlinson? as in ‘louis situation’ louis?” she demands.

harry leans across the sofa - okay, it’s more of a plunge - and yanks the phone out of his mother’s hands.

“you two text now?” she asks, thankfully having relinquished her hold without much difficulty. harry was worried she’d put up a fight. “what aren’t you telling me, harry?”

in truth, harry had very deliberately not told her anything about the tutoring. he’s freaked out about it enough with niall and even liam a little bit; he really doesn’t need her excitement (and likely torment) added on top of his own.

he realizes his plan is a little faulty seeing as the boy he’d been more or less obsessing over to his mother for weeks is actually going to be here - in his house - in mere minutes, but he figured he’d deal with that little issue when he actually showed up. “yes,” is all he says, not looking up from his phone at his mother’s delighted squeal, too scared to open the text; he’d already gotten his address and they’d already made the plans. why’s he texting him now?

with an over dramatically deep breath, he opens the message.

‘so what are you gonna teach me, harry? ;)’

oh, god.

“harry, you’re blushing!”

harry shakes his head and holds up a finger to quiet his mum, staring at the screen of his phone and - well, apparently blushing. he considers his reply for a moment - flirting is not his forté, alright? and maybe it’s an innocent question, maybe he honestly wants to know, but - fuck it, no it’s not. he finds himself typing back a hesitant, ‘depends on what you want to learn…’ and holding his breath.

the reply is almost instantaneous. ‘chemistry, of course. get your mind out of the gutter.’

harry bites his lip to hold back the giggle suddenly threatening to escape him. there’s something so uncomfortably pleasant and intoxicating about talking to - flirting with - louis like this, so casually and simply. it’s nice when louis can’t see just how flustered he gets, too.

“okay, harry, i’m about five seconds away from immaturely confiscating your phone just so i can read your texts if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

harry spares his mother a quick glance. “i’m kind of tutoring him and he’s kind of coming over in twenty minutes.” it comes out in a mumbled string of incoherency, and harry’s genuinely impressed when his mum’s eyes widen in understanding.

“he’s coming here?” she asks, face splitting into a mischievous grin. “i get to meet him?”

harry looks at her sternly - that glint in her eyes is never a good thing. “mum, don’t you dare.”

“dare what?” she asks, indignant. “i’m just innocently excited at the prospect of meeting the apple of my baby’s eye, that’s all.”

“oh, god,” harry groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. here we go. “don’t you have some place to be? i think we’re out of milk, you should run to the store.”

his mother ignores him. “so are you two - you know, a thing?”

“i’m tutoring him, mum.” he’s aware that’s not exactly a flat out denial, but, well - are they? thinking back on the past couple weeks makes his head spin a bit, but he can’t let himself be naive enough to believe that there’s any actual interest on louis’ part, that the vibrant and exciting boy is anything more than bored and harry is anything more than fun to tease.

he also can’t bring himself to particularly care. “please just - don’t talk,” he continues in something akin to a beg.

anne snorts and remains quiet, but the cheeky grin gracing her features says ‘right, because that’s going to happen,’ well enough. christ, why couldn’t they have done this at louis’ place? he just doesn’t think properly in the older boy’s presence.

which makes him think tutoring him may be a tad bit difficult.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

when the doorbell rings harry nearly jumps out of his seat.

his mum’s just coming down the stairs from doing laundry and is closer to the door than he is. “don’t, mum,” he mutters under his breath, eyes widening as she looks to the door, grinning. she winks at him and he immediately shoots up from his seat, but it’s pretty much inevitable that she’s going to get there first and - fuck, louis’s going to be scared away before be even gets through the front door.

she swings it open and there he is, standing on his doorstep - louis tomlinson. on the doorstep. of his house. harry stands behind his mum awkwardly, sending louis a little wave and willing his mother not to ruin his life.

“hi,” he says quietly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“hey, harry,” louis responds, smirking a bit already - harry feels his cheeks warm at the sound of his name on louis’ lips. yeah, this is going to be a long night.

“aren’t you going to invite your guest in, love?” his mum asks, and harry realizes with a jolt he’d just kind of been staring at louis over his mum’s shoulder. the other boy’s smirk widens.

“i would, but you’re in my way,” harry mutters. she turns her head to shoot him an amused smile and steps back, gesturing for louis to come in.

“you must be louis?” she asks, and - no no no, shut up. “i’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

shut up.

louis tears his eyes away from harry’s - which are widening at his mother’s words - and trains a smile on the grinning woman.

“you have, have you?” he asks, eyes flitting back to harry for a moment. “i take it you’re harry’s mum?”

“i prefer anne,” she replies, shooting him a wink and - god, she really needs to find someone her own age. “i must say, harry never mentioned you were quite so good looking.”

harry chokes on what’s gotta be shock and louis laughs, throwing his head back unabashedly - he looks almost skeptical, and harry can hardly blame him. his mum is a lot to take in.

“mum!” he croaks, and it honestly feels like his cheeks could catch fire at any moment. “enough!”

anne looks like she’s having a blast and harry takes a moment to appreciate that him skipping two years of schooling means he’ll be heading off to uni and getting out of here sooner than he technically should be. “oh, right,” she amends. “i believe he actually did mention it a few times.”

oh, god. harry shakes his head in embarrassment and pushes his way past his (laughing) mum and to the stairs, gesturing for louis to follow as he does so. jesus, this pretty much couldn’t have gone any worse. “we’re going to study now, mum,” he says pointedly, not looking at louis - he can almost feel the smirk still directed his way, making his cheeks tingle; he doesn’t think he can handle looking at him.

“don’t do anything i wouldn’t do,” she replies, and - okay, this has got to be some kind of cruel joke or nightmare or - shit, maybe he’s on punk’d.

louis is laughing heartily again, and he glides back down the three steps he had climbed to shake his mother’s hand. “it was an absolute pleasure to meet you, mrs. styles,” he says, eyes shining.

“oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she replies. “and it’s anne.”

“right,” says louis. “anne.” he turns to follow harry up the stairs, smiling brightly, and harry leads the way to his - oh shit, his bedroom. with louis. after his clinically insane (he’d come to that conclusion just now - there’s really no other explanation for her) had shot an unmistakable innuendo at them.

it’s then that he realizes belatedly that this whole louis thing has come way further than he ever imagined it possibly could.

when they reach his room harry turns to face louis awkwardly, taking in his expression as he fiddles idly with the curls at the nape of his neck. the boy in his doorway is eyeing the space with a hint of a grin as he closes the door - oh god, him closing the door should not make harry’s heart stutter like that - until he finally settles on the lord of the rings poster above his dresser. shit, he’d forgotten about that.

the older boy raises his brows slightly and harry forces himself to shrug a shoulder and meet the piercing blue eyes drilling unflinchingly into his own, offer a small smile. “sorry about my mum,” he says quietly, not really sure where to start and choosing not to comment on the poster. he can’t help his eyes from darting to the bed, wondering if he should sit on it or - christ, he’s got no idea what he’s doing. he bites his lip. you’re just tutoring him, calm down.

but at the back of his mind he knows - and hopes, admittedly - that this has come too far for this to strictly be tutoring. he’s almost vibrating with nervous excitement.

“she’s an absolute legend,” louis replies, dropping his bag and sitting down on harry’s bed. oh, well, okay. that’ll work. harry follows suit, sitting about a foot away from him and grabbing for his chemistry book. there’s a beat of silence as he flips through the pages before, “so you talk about me, huh?”

harry freezes in his ministrations and glances up at the other boy, who’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his painfully perfectly sculpted face. “i - no, she just—” harry stutters smoothly, watching in horror as the amused glint in louis’ eyes only grows brighter.

“relax, harry,” he laughs, scooting a bit closer and nudging their feet together. “it’s cute.”

harry’s breath hitches, but he feels his face split into a nervous grin of amusement. “did you just call me cute?” he asks, jokingly mockingly. “cute? really?”

louis grins back at him, looking pleased at having elicited a cheeky comment from the easily flustered younger boy. “i called your stuttering cute, curly. don’t get carried away.”

curly. harry takes a deep breath and wills himself to calm down and fall into what should be easy banter. he’s normally okay at this. “still called me cute,” he argues quietly, stupid blush giving his feigned nonchalance away. he turns his gaze back down to the chemistry book on his lap. “alright, so i was thinking maybe we should start at chapter four, so that you can get caught up on what we’re doing now?” he asks, trying to ignore the light brush of louis’ sock clad feet nudging gently against his own. he clears his throat - he’s fucking playing footsies with him. “then we can go back and do one to three once we’re finished with that, seeing as we’re already passed them and there’s really no rush. you won’t need to know it until the exam.”

louis shrugs agreeably and harry nods, preparing himself for a couple hours of diligently paying attention to teaching louis chemistry and not thinking of all the various things he’d like for louis to teach him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

at around 7:00 louis’ phone goes off and he frowns at it. “shit, i have to go,” he says, looking up from the message on his screen and not making to move.

at some point they’d switched positions so that they’re both lying on their stomachs with their books splayed out at the head of the bed in front of them. once harry had gotten over the immediate onslaught of we’re lying on my bed we’re lying on my bed we’re lying on my bed that had momentarily plagued his thoughts, the tutoring had actually gone quite smoothly.

harry nods, rolling onto his back, and before he can sit up louis’s crawling over him to stand up himself and - oh, okay. harry flushes at the fact that louis was just on top of him and stands up behind him, opening the door.

“thanks for the help, harry,” he hears louis say when they leave his room to head back downstairs. as they begin to near the bottom harry slows down as to not alert his mother of their presence - she’s done enough damage, thank you very much.

“no problem,” harry replies. his mum’s not in the living room when they walk by and he lets himself bask in a moment of relief before it turns to disappointment at the fact that louis’s leaving.

he hadn’t expected something to happen, necessarily, but - actually, yeah, that’s exactly what he had expected.

thinking back to louis’ comment in the washroom a few weeks ago, he can hardly be blamed for working himself up and thinking something might happen between them. the fact that he had actually just spent two hours tutoring louis - without so much as a flirty comment aimed his way, once they’d gotten into it - is almost surprising. christ, he’s getting a bit spoiled.

“walking me all the way to the door?” louis asks when they reach the front door and harry pulls it open, stepping out into the cool breeze and waiting for louis to follow. “i had no idea you were such a romantic,” and ah, there we go - harry’s heartbeat picks up a bit at the simple teasing comment, almost familiarly.

“and i had no idea you were such a gentlemen,” he finds himself replying. they’re still on the front step with louis’s rifling through his bag for his keys, but the older boy looks up at the comment.

“a gentlemen?” he asks, raising a brow. harry flushes but nods, fiddling with his necklaces - nervous habit. he speaks again before he can lose his nerves, because he knows from experience that he really only has one bout of them when he gets himself into situations like this with louis.

“mhm,” he says. “we were on my bed all night and you never even made a move. i’m impressed.” once again, the shaky voice gives away the fact that his nonchalance is totally feigned. whatever, louis’s gotta be used to it by now.

the other boy pauses in his efforts to find his keys and lets out a breathless little noise of amusement, lowering his hand from his bag and looking at harry like he’s sizing him up again, how he looked at him in the washroom and at the party and in the hallway yesterday. “were you expecting something?” he asks.

harry just shrugs a shoulder because, as he’d anticipated, his nerves had diminished the second he’d caught louis’ gaze. he swallows thickly when the other boy takes a step toward him and he finds himself taking another step backwards, that same feeling of being completely out of place, out of his depth, washing over him heavily. he backs up until his back hits the door and he’s forced to stop, with louis standing right in front of him, breath warm on his face.

“you seem like you were expecting something,” he continues, and harry realizes with a jolt that he’s actually shorter than him, despite the age gap. he’d never noticed before and he finds as they stand there, louis having him crowded against the door, that he still feels like louis is towering over him - he reckons idly that he’d probably feel like that if he were ten feet taller than the older boy. “i don’t know what would have given you that impression.” his eyes are shining and harry lets out a breath, trying to stop his own eyes from drifting down to louis’ lips, because - ah, he’s really, really close.

louis isn’t stopping his eyes from drifting, though. he’s looking at harry hungrily, like he’s steak ready to be devoured - the look alone is almost enough to make harry’s heart stop; it’s already beating painfully hard, thrumming erratically against his chest. when louis seems to realize that harry’s incapable of speech he says quietly, “would you freak out if i kissed you?” and loops his fingers through harry’s belt loops, tugging his waist closer - it’s like he was waiting for the last possible moment, waiting for harry to bring it up first so that’d he’d win whatever fucked up game he seems to be into playing.

harry barely has time to shake his head - which is a lie, because he’s totally already freaking out - before louis’s kissing him, and holy shit.

kissing louis sober is a hell of a lot different than kissing louis drunk. it’s soft at first, a gentle slide of lips, and louis’ hands are firm on his waist. harry (obviously) immediately becomes light headed and finds himself wrapping his arms loosely, hesitantly, around louis’ neck, until the other boy digs his thumbs into his hipbones in what he thinks has to be approval and he throws caution out the window, threading his fingers through louis’ feathery hair and returning the kiss.

the second he begins to reciprocate he feels louis smirk against his mouth and he slips his tongue out to trace warmly over harry’s bottom lip - harry catches on and opens his mouth under the pressure, granting louis access, and the older boy jumps at the opportunity, thoroughly deepening the kiss and meeting harry’s tongue with his own.

he can hardly help the quiet whimper that escapes his mouth between their lips when louis grips tightly at his waist, lifting him up and pressing him firmly against the door. harry wraps his legs around louis’ waist to keep from sliding down and - oh god oh god oh god.

“oh, god,” louis pulls back to comment against his mouth, voice thick. harry only blinks at him, glossy eyed and still unable to form words.

he can still moan, though, apparently, because that’s exactly what he does when louis leaves his lips alone to kiss his way down his neck. there are still faint bruises there from last time and he licks and bites over them, smoother without the alcohol clouding his movements, and harry’s breathing is so labored it should probably be a bit embarrassing but all he can focus on is louis’ lips on his neck and the soft slide of louis’ hair through his fingers.

he’s just thinking absently that they’re probably giving old mrs. boyle across the street quite a show when louis’ phone goes off again and he freezes for a moment before pulling away, shoulders heaving with his own uneven breaths. “shit,” he curses lowly, looking from his phone to harry’s lips - harry can guess that they’re probably all red and kiss swollen. “i have to go.”

harry nods, eyes wide, and louis slides him gently to the ground - he’s quite impressed with himself when he manages to stay upright. his head is spinning dangerously and all he can do is watch as louis backs away, finally having pulled out his keys.

“same time tomorrow?” he asks, and the sound of his gravely voice sends a jolt deep through harry’s stomach. he decides he should probably say something.

“yeah,” he settles on - with wit like that, it’s no wonder he skipped two years of school. “i - yeah, same time.”

louis nods, licking his own swollen lips and raking his eyes up harry’s body once more before raising his brows and turning to make his way to his car without another word.

harry watches him for a second before jerkily ripping open his front door and slamming it shut behind him. he leans against it roughly, breathing heavily - his initial and instinctual panic is just starting to turn into a hesitant, skeptical grin when he notices his mum, leaning against the doorway of the living room with crossed arms. she smiles at him knowingly. “did the tutoring go well, then?” she asks, giving him a once over in which she more than likely takes in his probably disheveled appearance.

harry only nods, forgetting that he’s supposed to be mad at her and sliding down the door into a sitting position when his shaky legs finally give out. his mum shakes her head, grinning, and walks back into the living room, leaving him to calm down by himself. she’ll probably shoot him a hundred questions later.

he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels his phone vibrate. he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, swallowing thickly when he sees louis’ name - sighing shakily, he opens the message with trembling fingers.

‘you were totally expecting that.’


	7. Part Seven

“so how’d it go, then?”

harry grins broadly at niall as the other boy sits down beside him, choosing not to answer - he’s not sure he knows how to answer properly. (as in without squealing.) he’d been a giggling wreck all night, and while it’s mildly acceptable to giddily jump up and down alone in your bedroom after making out with the sole subject of your morning-shower-wank fantasies for weeks, he thinks it’s probably a bit frowned upon to gossip about it excitedly to your friend the morning after.

niall seems to take the shining eyes and ridiculous grin as answer enough, though, and raises an eyebrow. “that good, huh?”

the younger boy only shrugs. “i have no idea what you’re talking about, niall,” he says, biting his lip to keep from giggling - ugh, giggling. he’d thought he’d gotten all of that out of his system last night, dammit.

“you know full well what i’m talking about, you dolt,” replies niall, bumping their shoulders together gently. “now spill.”

harry’s still grinning when he takes his things out of his bag - two pens, because that’s still a thing - and he looks up at niall with wide, bright eyes. “i tutored him,” he says honestly, giving the classroom a cursory glance to assure that the ‘him’ in question hasn’t yet arrived.

“no shit,” niall deadpans with an eye roll, before pushing, “and?”

harry shrugs a shoulder. “and he kissed me,” he supplies simply, flushing with giddiness at how it feels to say it out loud. he kind of wants to parade around the school chanting ‘louis tomlinson kissed me!’ but he figures that louis may not fully appreciate the sentiment and that it may be a bit embarrassing - christ, just having the desire to do so is embarrassing enough. there’s just something about louis that brings out the twelve year old girl within him, and he finds himself simultaneously resenting it and reveling in it.

“he kissed you?” niall asks, skeptical grin tugging the corners of his lips up. “really? jesus, i thought he might at least wait until the second date.”

harry allows his smile to widen a bit, shrugging and looking titteringly at the door again - he finds that he’s not even that nervous anymore. he’s still completely unsure as to what louis’s thinking, as confusing and exciting as the older boy is, but - he’d kissed him. like, it hadn’t just a teasing comment about sucking him off, or drunkenly taking a body shot off him; it’d been a good fucking kiss. a kiss that had left harry shaking and tingling and yeah, maybe a little turned on.

but that’s beside the point. what he’s trying to get at is that his excitement now is based more on actual eagerness to see louis again than it is nerves, and that’s new.

“yeah, well,” he says quietly, directing his attention back to his irish friend. “i reckon i’m pretty irresistible.”

niall snorts. “you’re a shit, actually,” he says, before glancing at the door and grinning a bit. “look who it is.”

harry doesn’t have to look to know who’s entering the classroom. “keep talking to me,” he tells niall hurriedly, not turning around. “make it look like we’re having a conversation.”

“aren’t we?” niall asks, amused. “harry, you’re more of a girl than some actual girls i know.”

harry only pouts at him, still pointedly not looking towards the door, and niall draws his eyebrows together.

“christ, mate, you’re cuter than some, too,” he says, wrinkling his nose in evident disgust at harry’s cuteness. “quit it.”

harry’s pout turns into a smile. “told you i was irresistible.”

niall smirks, but he’s no longer looking at him, eyes focused somewhere over harry’s shoulder. “i wouldn’t say ’irresistible’,” a voice replies, and - well, that’s not niall. harry turns and is greeted by louis - obviously -, smirk in place, taking his seat beside him. “i mean, you’re alright,” the boy continues when he’s seated, clearly pleased that harry had unhesitatingly turned to focus all of his attention on him. “but ‘irresistible’ is taking it a bit far, babe.”

harry chokes a bit, then, because - babe? had louis honestly just called him babe? he feels an all too familiar warmth start at his neck and work its way up to his cheeks, flaming, and lets himself grin a bit in greeting.

louis seems to pinpoint the source of harry’s sudden rosiness and rolls his eyes in what looks like fondness rather than annoyance. “i call everyone ‘babe’, curly,” he says quietly, as the bell rings and cardle immediately addresses the class, pulling out the attendance sheet. louis nudges their feet together under the desk in a way similar to last night. “‘curly’ is just for you, though,” he continues, pulling gently at one of the ringlets by harry’s ear. harry swallows thickly, closing his eyes as he tries not to nuzzle into the touch.

louis chuckles a bit, taking his hand away and letting the curl bounce back into place, and harry slowly slides the pen onto the other boy’s desk as they both turn their attention to the board ahead of them - as routine goes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

and so harry finds himself falling into another routine with louis, too.

every day - literally - the older boy comes over at 5:00. harry teaches him some stuff and louis genuinely seems to catch on, probably because he’s constantly looking at harry’s lips when he speaks and it’d be hard to miss what he’s saying.

and every day, after about an hour and a half of studying, louis will pull the chemistry book from harry’s hands and snog him completely senseless - it’s honestly a pretty easy task for him - until his phone goes off and he has to pull away and go do whatever the hell it is he goes to do.

and now - about a week since the first time, on a thursday - harry finds himself spread out on his little single bed with louis on top of him, biting at his jaw and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, and harry’s sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to keep from mewling because louis’s taking off his shirt and they haven’t actually done anything besides kiss yet and just. he can’t wrap his head around it. he takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm down but it turns into more of a gasp for air and he feels louis smile against his jaw.

“what’s the matter, harry?” he asks against the heated skin, working at the last of harry’s buttons. when his only answer is another unsteady breath, louis crawls up from his ministrations at his jaw to kiss his lips, inhaling harry’s shaky breaths and leaving his torso alone to place his hands on either side of harry’s head.

his legs are starting to numb a bit from louis’ full weight on top of him, so he unthinkingly spreads them, allowing the older boy to slot seamlessly between them and - oh, god, he’s not prepared for the sudden onslaught of sensation that comes with the new position and moans quietly into louis’ mouth, unable to help it.

feeling suddenly bold in the situation, harry sucks louis’ own bottom lip into his mouth and bites down gently, tugging, and louis laughs breathlessly - it’s actually more of a giggle, but he’d probably deny that if called out on it - against his mouth and threads his fingers through harry’s curls, kisses him harder.

harry’s just discovering that his resolve to not wrap his legs around louis’ waist and push up into him, grind up into him, is quickly crumbling when the door to his bedroom opens and, “oh!”

shit. harry and louis both freeze for a moment before louis sits up slowly, looking at the intruder with wide eyes - harry almost wants to laugh, because he’s never seen louis look so uncomfortable before, had kind of figured he just doesn’t get uncomfortable.

he can’t quite bring himself to laugh, though, when his mother’s standing in the doorway with her own eyes opened comically wide.

“well,” she says eventually, and harry still hasn’t sat up, is just lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, willing his mum to just close the door and avoid opening her mouth to speak until at least after louis leaves. “wow.”

louis snorts, then, the situation clearly becoming funny to him now that he’s decided on the fact anne isn’t going to harm him. “i should - yeah, i should definitely go,” he says, grabbing his bag and heading to the door, running a hand through his tousled hair before fixing his shirt - harry may or may not feel a little surge of pride at having been the one to make a mess of him like that before he remembers that’s his mum standing in the doorway, and pride is not something he should be feeling.

louis smiles awkwardly at anne and she grins back at him to say it’s okay i don’t know where you sleep so i couldn’t even hurt you if i wanted to and then he’s gone. harry feels a totally unwarranted feeling of faint hurt bubble in his chest and he thinks it may derive from louis’ lack of goodbye, but - that’s dumb, so.

he ignores it and sits up, biting his lip and looking at his mum for all of two seconds before she’s letting out a choked little laugh and he has to hide his face in his hands - they warm against it, naturally.

“well,” she repeats once she’s calmed down. “i feel like maybe i should’ve expected that, but i can honestly say that i didn’t.”

“mum,” harry groans, unburying his face to look at her in exasperation. “what do you want from me?”

“i think i came up here to tell you that supper’s ready,” she tells him, sitting on the edge of his bed. “i tried shouting, but i don’t think you heard - you seem to have been a bit preoccupied.” she laughs again, throwing her head back unabashedly. okay, it’s not that funny. nothing is that funny.

“i don’t like you,” harry mutters, opting to just slip his shirt off the rest of the way rather than try awkwardly buttoning it up with his still shaky fingers.

“because you love me,” his mum replies simply, patting his leg. they sit in silence for a moment before anne clears her throat, looking at harry curiously. “so - are you—” she cuts off, considering. “like, boyfriends now?” she decides on, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction.

harry freezes, because they - louis and harry - hadn’t actually talked about that yet. it’s been nagging absently at harry for the week that they’d been doing - this - but he’s been a bit too occupied with other things to bring it up.

and a bit scared of what louis would say, too, but that’s beside the point.

“no,” he finds himself saying, and he doesn’t like how it sounds, doesn’t think it feels right on his tongue. “we’re not - we just, you know.” this isn’t something you should ever have to say to your mother.

anne bites her lip. “be careful, harry,” she tells him, gripping at his leg a bit more firmly, comfortingly rubbing circles into it.

harry’s eyes must go as around as saucers at the words and he’s about to start choking or something when his mother shakes her head quickly. “no, not like that,” she says, and then after a beat, “well, yeah, actually - we should probably talk about being safe in that sense, too—”

“mum!” harry interrupts, “no, just - oh my god, no, let’s not,” he says, face burning. and then, “what did you mean, then?” he asks, because if she didn’t mean safe sex after walking in on that, then - what other kind of safeties could she be referencing? he’s sure they’ve been through ‘stranger danger’ before.

anne clears her throat and bites her lip in contemplation, and harry squirms on the bed, not used to his mother not knowing exactly what to say.

“mum?” he prompts after a second. she nods, taking a bit of a breath.

“just be careful with louis, harry,” she says then, looking at him seriously. harry’s brows draw together in confusion, because - what? anne catches on to his lack of understanding and continues. “don’t get me wrong, love, he seems brilliant,” she says honesty, having already told him that from what she’s seen, she quite likes the boy. “he can actually keep up with my wit, it’s great,” she jokes, squeezing his calf to soften the gentle dig she just threw at him.

“then what?” asks harry, not cracking a smile - her original seriousness about the topic has gotten him sufficiently stressed out.

anne looks at him for a second, eyes raking over his face, before, “be careful with giving your heart away to him,” she says. harry’s breath hitches - that’s not that he was expecting. “he’s not like you, i don’t think.”

harry’s still not completely following. “how so?” he asks, wishing he was uninterested enough in her words to just nod and shoo her away, feign understanding.

“you throw yourself into loving things so easily, harry,” she says. “you don’t look back, you just - love. and i don’t think louis seems like the type to be okay with - i just don’t want you to get hurt here, okay?”

harry stares, uncomprehending. well, he comprehends what she’s saying, understands the words and the warning, but he doesn’t see how they relate to him and - what?

“i do not,” is all he finds himself rebutting, not looking up from where he’s pulling idly at a loose string on his jeans.

he hears anne sigh again. “after two days of knowing liam you were calling him your best friend, sweetie,” she tells him gently, still rubbing comfortingly at his leg.

“i was five!” harry protests, looking at her now in indignation.

anne only looks at him for another second, likes she wants to say something else, but she ends up just nodding, patting his leg once more before standing up and heading to the door. harry sighs shakily, glad to be out of the discussion topic but also suddenly a million times more confused than he’d previously been. “just keep it in mind, harry,” she tells him, before, “now come eat. i made another casserole and i think it may actually be edible.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

harry’s lying in bed, trying not to think about louis and his mother’s words about louis and just sleep, when his phone goes off. after the first buzz he ignores it, figuring he’ll just answer the text later - when he wakes up, preferably, because it’s nearly 2:00 am and nobody should be texting him anyway.

but the buzzing doesn’t let up and harry realizes in confusion that he’s getting a call. he pulls his phone off his bedside table and jolts when he reads the caller i.d. taking a deep breath, he hits ‘answer’ and hesitates for a moment, phone pressed against his ear, before, “hello?”

“hey, curly,” is the greeting on the other end of the line, and harry feels his lips tug into a hesitant grin, heart in his chest.

“hey,” he responds, aiming for casual as he lies back in bed, snuggling into his pillow. if this were niall or liam he’d probably be telling them off for calling him so late right about now.

but it’s not; it’s louis, and harry doesn’t question it, just basks in it.

“what’s up?” louis asks quitely.

harry shrugs, realizing belatedly that the other boy can’t see it over the phone. “nothing,” he replies instead, still grinning. “did you call me this late just for a chat, or…?”

louis laughs, but it’s subdued, like he’s trying not to wake anyone up. harry realizes that he actually has no idea who louis lives with, what his family consists of. “more or less, yeah,” he replies. “have you got a problem with that?

“no.”

“i didn’t think so.”

it’s silent for a moment before harry fills it with, “you missed my mum almost giving me ‘the talk’,” he tells him, opting to leave out what talk she actually did give him. he almost wants to mention it, but what would he even say? ‘so, my mum thinks you’re going to break my heart! see you tomorrow!’? right. it’s not something he could imagine talking to louis about, anyway. he doesn’t want to sound childish or scare him off or - anything. he just wants this; this is nice.

it’s completely irrelevant anyway, because his mum has no idea what she’s talking about.

louis chokes in an attempt to keep down his laughter and harry flushes at having been the cause of it. “did i really?” he asks, amusement evident in his voice. “i’m sorry.”

“sorry you missed it or sorry you caused it?”

“sorry i missed it, obviously,” louis replies, not missing a beat. this conversation is - weird, he decides. weird for them. it’s almost like they’re friends and harry likes it, thinks he could get used to it. (on top of the kissing, that is.) “i like when you blush.”

harry sucks in a breath and - well, blushes, doesn’t even try to will the heat away.

“are you blushing right now?” louis’s asking, voice low.

well. harry brings a hand up to touch lightly at his burning cheek. “yeah,” he breathes honestly, biting his lip.

he can almost hear louis smirk. “good,” the boy approves. there’s another beat of silence before, “meet me by the first floor staircase tomorrow? before chem?”

oh, god. “okay,” replies harry, unhesitatingly.

“perfect,” louis says simply. “i should get to sleep, then.” harry finds himself wondering absently what he sleeps in until he realizes that’s actually creepy as fuck. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“bye, lou.” oh. harry freezes as soon as he says it, because - lou? where the hell did that come from? he slaps a hand over his face, not caring that louis can probably hear the snap of skin on skin on the other end of the line, and waits with bated breath for louis’ reaction, tugging at one of the stray curls falling into his face impatiently.

when louis does reply a second later, it sounds like he’s smiling. “goodnight, harry,” he says, and the line goes dead.

sleep doesn’t come easily after that.


	8. Part Eight

harry gets to school early the next day. he’d slept for all of about two hours and is exhausted and confused and if it weren’t for louis’ invitation to meet him by the staircase - where he’s now standing, tapping his foot against the shiny tiled floor - he probably would have begged his mum for a ‘mental health day’ or something, because he really reckons he needs it.

but, as it stands, he did tell louis that he’d meet him, and his excitement for said meeting is pretty much overriding his exhaustion and confusion and anything and everything else.

it doesn’t seem like he’s been standing there for long before the bell’s ringing, though, despite the fact that he got there early, and harry’s looking anxiously at his phone as the halls in front on him clear out - he’s never been late to class before and he doesn’t particularly want to start now.

as the last scurrying student slips into their first class he’s actually starting to consider just going to chemistry, meeting louis there, when a pair of arms wrap around him from behind and harry finds himself grinning suddenly in the now otherwise empty hallway. “you’re late,” he says quietly, leaning back into the unexpected touch. “making me late.”

he feels louis laugh into his neck and then he’s being pulled backwards gently, into a - a storage closet? harry blinks at his surroundings, eyeing the broom in the corner of the tiny space. louis lets him go when they’re fully seethed and closes the door behind him, effectively enveloping them in complete darkness. he waits a moment before he reaches above him and pulls on a string, bathing the room in dim glowing light.

harry continues to stare at the newly-lit broom. “is this a janitor’s closet?” he asks, amused. he chooses to ignore the way his heart’s beating sharply against his chest as louis leans against the door and looks at him. his fingers fiddle behind him for a second until harry hears the click of a lock and - well, fuck. 

louis grins, then. “hi to you, too.”

“are you kidnapping me?”

“it’s not kidnapping if you want to be here, harry,” replies louis, still grinning. he reaches out a hand, signaling for harry to step closer, and harry obeys without thinking, stepping so close to the older boy that their chests are almost touching. the room’s quite tiny. louis places two hands on his waist and spins him around, though, so harry’s back is up against his chest again, nuzzles into the curls at the nape of his neck. the position is - new, harry thinks. nice.

“i don’t recall agreeing to being locked in a closet with the likes of you,” he says lowly, leaning in impossibly closer when louis snakes his arms around his waist, urging him back.

“mmm, and are you complaining?” louis asks, leaning down and placing a kiss to the side harry’s neck. harry lets out an unsteady breath and shakes his head, wordless, knowing that louis can feel the movement - that he knows the answer, anyway. “good,” the boy says, breath hot against his cheek. “then we should skip.”

harry’s eyes widen a bit at the, albeit unsurprising, words and he finds himself shaking his head, squirming uncomfortably in louis’ arms. “louis,” he whines, biting his lip. “can’t we just - wait? until after school?”

louis massages his hips in what harry thinks is an effort to calm him down; physically, it works, and harry stills again in his arms, leans back into the touch. mentally he’s still freaking the fuck out. “you’ve already skipped two years,” louis sing-songs persuasively, kissing gently at a spot just below his ear now. harry leans back into the older boy’s touch even more despite himself, places his own hands on top of louis’ where they’re settled on his hips. “what’s another day?”

harry shakes his head, but he thinks the action is a little overridden by the fact that he’s squeezing at louis’ hands in encouragement, still pushing back against him. his breathing is a bit ragged. “i want to,” he says slowly, closing his eyes. “bu—”

“then do it,” louis interrupts, nipping at his ear. it’s more than a bit distracting, really. “no buts.”

“but i can’t, lou,” harry continues firmly, and louis moves down to the spot where his shoulder and neck meet, kissing and sucking at the heated skin there, and - okay, he really needs to stop if harry has any hope of getting to class.

which he probably doesn’t.

definitely, definitely doesn’t. 

“why not?”

“because—” harry gasps sharply and cuts off again when louis bites down, harder than he had been before. he can feel his resolve being roughly nibbled away at, too, and heaves a steadying sigh. “because i don’t skip,” harry replies pointlessly. “i’m not you.”

“yeah, but you’re with me,” louis whispers in a tone that says he knows exactly what those words are doing to him, even if he knows they’re not exactly meant in - that way. “right?”

harry remains silent for a moment, trying to collect his wits as louis’ hands move from beneath his own to rub gently at the inside of his thighs, dangerously close to - yeah. oh, god. “so?” he croaks, nearly jumping out of his skin when louis’ fingertips brush over the zip of his trousers.

“so,” louis provides right in his ear, barely a breath, “give a little get a little, curly.”

harry takes one more deep breath. “and what exactly will i be—” he cuts off when louis begins palming him through his jeans in earnest, coaxing him into hardness, which - he wasn’t far from, anyway, so it’s pretty easy. he closes his eyes, rocking gently into louis’ touch. “what exactly will i be getting, then?” he asks, voice cracking pathetically. “for - for cutting class?”

he feels louis smile against his ear and then he’s switching their positions swiftly, turning him around so they’re face-to-face and he’s pushing harry up against the door. “me,” is all he says, and his eyes are dark, and his leg is pressing hard between the definite bulge between harry’s thighs, and this is - fuck, no, this is all too much and they’re in a fucking cupboard at school and since when does harry get into shit like this?

since louis, he suspects. he wonders, at the back of his mind, if this is going to become a thing - not necessarily cupboard hook ups, but breaking the rules in general. he finds he’s not particularly minding the idea anymore, breaking the rules for louis, not with the older boy’s knee rubbing up against him tantalizingly and eliciting a low moan from his already parted lips.

“okay,” he agrees suddenly, like they both knew he would, watching as louis’ lips - oh, god, his lips - curve into a smirk. “okay, i’ll skip. where - where are we going?”

louis leans in to kiss him, then, wasting no time on pretenses and opening his mouth against harry’s immediately. it’s steady and deliberate and harry can barely hold himself up let alone respond properly, so he just threads his fingers through louis’ hair and lets himself be kissed. after a minute, when louis pulls back to speak, harry - accidentally - makes a needy little noise of loss at the back of his throat. but their lips are still touching as louis moves his mouth gently against harry’s to form words. “i think here should work just fine,” he says, responding to his earlier question belatedly, fingers sliding harry’s belt off in one fluid motion, and - when had he undone it? harry can’t even remember, his brain is hazy and he feels like he’s riding on seventh fucking heaven or something and he just - he can’t. he can’t think, obviously, because if he could he’d probably say that doing whatever it is they’re doing in a school closet while everyone else is in class is a bad idea, but it just - it seems like a really good idea to him right now, he’s too far gone. “it’s even got a lock,” louis is saying, kissing him again, just barely. “perfect for mid school blow jobs, if you ask me.”

harry just nods, letting his eyes slip shut, until louis’ words register with a jolt and they shoot back open, because - had he misheard, or—

“blow jobs?” he squeaks, eyes wide, but louis doesn’t honor the question with an answer, is already sliding down his body and harry’s brain is going to actually explode any minute now and - he’s never really - he hadn’t been planning on this, doesn’t know how to deal with the the painfully tight knot of arousal settling hot in the pit of his stomach. louis lands on his knees with a soft thud in front of him, looks up from under his lashes.

“relax, babe,” he says, and - that’s it. harry’s mind goes blank.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

they end up watching movies at harry’s house for the rest of the day after - that. louis tells him to pick the movies as he throws himself onto the couch, and when the first one harry blindly pulls out from the dvd rack is after finishing up ‘fight club’ is ‘finding nemo’ (“really, curly? why do you even have that?”), harry decides to just pop it on the dvd player and go with it, sit on the couch beside louis - a respectable distance apart, that is, so as not to accidentally cuddle or something - and actually watch ‘finding nemo’.

it’s not exactly like he’s in his right state of mind, anyway. he feels like a totally different person. he’d blame it on the fact that he just skipped an entire day of school, which he’d never once even considered doing in the past, but he doesn’t necessarily think it’s that alone, because - okay, this is ridiculous, but can a blow job change a man? because harry’s felt completely on top of the world since louis had stood up with an amused look on his face and kissed him, just so he could taste, and it had just - yeah.

so harry decides that blow jobs are definitely life-altering events. he also thinks he could probably die happy having experienced one, because surely there is nothing better left to behold.

“dory will never not be funny,” he hears louis sigh beside him, interrupting his thoughts. as soon as he says it he wrinkles his eyebrows, like he hadn’t meant to speak the words out loud, and harry lets himself giggle a bit.

“you like dory, do you?” he teases, looking at him in what he hopes is a casual way, but he can feel affection for the boy beside him bubbling in his chest and hopes it doesn’t show. dammit, go away.

louis rolls his eyes and - oh my god, is that a blush? is he blushing? “lou,” harry finds himself muttering, unthinkingly bringing an only mildly shaky hand up to touch his cheek. when he feels the heat that’s warming louis’ face gently, though already fading, he can’t stop another quiet giggle from escaping his mouth. “you’re blushing.”

“am not,” replies louis, grinning. he bats harry’s hand away playfully and resumes watching the movie, but harry - suddenly harry’s not interested in the movie, can’t look away from louis, from his ridiculous cheekbones and the curve of his weirdly long lashes and his thin, pink lips.

he bites down on his own lip for a moment, thoughtful, until he comes to a decision and swiftly positions himself so he can throw a leg over louis’ lap, effectively straddling him.

louis blinks up at him and grins, surprise evident in his features. “look at you,” he comments, doing just that and setting his hands on harry’s thighs, pulling him closer. “getting bolder by the minute.”

harry smiles down at him. “yeah, well, i needed your attention,” he says, wrapping his arms around louis’ neck to fondle the soft hairs at the back of it.

“and why’s that?”

harry bites his lip and wiggles in louis’ lap, reveling in the way louis’ eyes shut briefly as he takes a deep breath. “i just had to tell you,” he says, leaning down to whisper in louis’ ear, “that bloat is much funnier than dory.”

louis pulls away to stare at him, eyes skeptical, before he lets out a bark of laughter that has harry’s eyes lighting up. “for a genius you’re really not very smart,” he says, shaking his head. “dory is one of the best animated characters of all time. nobody even remembers bloat when the movie is over, he’s totally irrelevant.”

“yeah, but it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to look at for,” harry throws back, pressing their smiling lips together briefly before pulling back and waggling his eyebrows, waiting for a comeback.

louis tilts his head to the side and with the way he’s looking at him harry feels like he’s almost being inspected, and it shoots a jolt of an unnamed sensation through his chest. “yeah,” louis replies, nodding. “yeah, you do.”

heat spreads across his cheeks - hey, surprise - at louis’ words, at the considering look in his eyes, and suddenly all he wants to do is kiss him.

before he can really act on it, though, “okay, boys. are you trying to get caught?”

of course. of fucking course. harry groans and turns around to look at the woman standing in the doorway, not bothering to get off louis’ lap. “you’re home early,” he comments, blushing fiercely, biting back a grin as he feels louis shake with laughter beneath him. this isn’t funny. 

“mmm,” his mother hums, walking into the room slowly. he mentally curses himself for not hearing the door open and close. “so are you.”

oh, shit. harry pulls out his phone to look at the time (and catches a glimpse of the preview of a text from niall: ‘r u fucking skipping with tommo’) and realizes he’s still technically got half an hour left of school. plastering on a smile, he clambers off louis’ lap and runs into his mum’s arms, hugging her tightly. “you’re my favourite mother,” he tells her, squeezing tightly. “pretty much the best mother i’ve ever had, have i ever told you that?”

anne disentangles herself from her son and tries to look at him seriously, holding him at arms length, but it’s clear she’s fighting back a smile and harry takes that as a victory. “we’ll talk later,” she says, heading for the kitchen. before she’s out the door, though, louis’s standing up.

“actually, you can talk now,” he says, grabbing for his bag. harry has a sense of deja vú. “i should get going.” he smiles at anne bashfully and she grins back, shaking her head at him in amusement. “always a pleasure, mrs styles,” he says charmingly, backing up in search of the exit.

“anne,” she scolds, raising her eyebrows threateningly. “and you too, louis.”

louis smiles at her once more before aiming said smile at harry and biting his lip, like he wants to say something else but is holding it back. “see ya, curly,” he finally seems to decide on.

harry’s face flushes at the use of the nickname in front of his mother. “bye, lou,” he replies quietly, and louis smiles at him for a second longer before disappearing out the doorway. anne waits until she hears the front door close before turning to harry, crossing her arms.

“skipping, harry?” she asks immediately. “you?”

harry’s been taller than his mother for years but he shrinks down at her words, feeling like he’s looking up at her with his wide eyes, faux innocent.

“since when do you think it’s okay to cut classes?” she continues when he remains quiet.

“sorry, mum,” replies harry, opting to not answer the question with his decided reasoning of ‘since louis wanted me to’.

anne just shakes her head, runs a hand through her hair. “so this is what having a normal teenager feels like,” she mutters. harry swallows, starting at her in apprehension and then confusion as her eyes suddenly light up. “it’s kind of - fun.”

harry feels his jaw drop. like, actually. “fun?” he repeats, skeptical. “it’s fun?”

anne only nods, face breaking out into a grin. “does this mean i get to ground you?”

harry’s eyes widen. “not for a first offense!” he says, shaking his head and feeling his lips curve into a pout. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard the word ‘grounded’ come out of her mouth before, not even with gemma. especially not with gemma. “it’s in the parenting rulebook or something.”

“there is no rulebook, harry. i’ve been winging it for years.”

“well, there should be,” replies harry, defeated. then after a beat, “okay, then. lay it on me. what’s my punishment?”

anne looks contemplative for a moment before, “you don’t get to complain about my cooking for an entire month,” she tells him firmly, tilting her chin up. “not even once.”

harry stares for a moment before breaking out into a smile and pulling her into a real hug. “i love you, mum.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

so harry eats an entire bowl of his mum’s stew without uttering a single negative word before he finds himself back in the living room with her, watching another damn reality show and - thinking. which is never really a good thing.

he can’t help his thoughts from drifting back to what his mum had said about louis the night before, about how harry should be careful with him - of him. the warning hadn’t crossed his mind once during the hours he’d spent with the boy, but as he sits here now, running over the day’s events in his tired mind, he finds that the words are echoing around in his head relentlessly. he’s developing a slight headache.

“mum?” he asks hesitantly, when the show is on break and he has a chance at actually gaining her attention. she turns to look at him and his nervousness must be written on his face or something because she reaches an arm out. harry rolls his eyes but scoots over a couple inches, leans his head on her shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“mhm?” she prompts, threading her fingers through his curls. “what’s on your mind, love?”

“what did you—” he cuts off, clears his throat and thinks about how to word it, if it’s even worth bringing up. “why do you think i should be careful with louis?” 

anne is quiet for a moment before harry elaborates quickly, wanting to get it out, “i mean - i believe you about me getting - i don’t know, easily attached,” he tells her honestly, snuggling into her side a little more comfortably, hiding his face so his voice is slightly muffled. “but why do you think he ‘doesn’t seem the type’ to be - okay with it, or whatever?” he holds his breath, waiting for an answer.

he doesn’t really get one. “i didn’t mean to scare you, harry,” she says quietly, continuing before harry can protest that he’s not scared, thank you very much. “i just wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into; that you and louis are on the same page.”

harry unburies his face and looks at her, eyes wide. “but what page is he on?”

anne lets out a breathy laugh, shakes her head a bit. “that’s something you’re going to have to ask him, harry,” she says.

harry stares at his hands, picking at his thumb nail. “okay,” is all he says, and he knows as he says it that it’s a lie. there’s no way he’s going to fuck up whatever hesitant relationship thing they’ve built by asking stupid, childish questions and scaring him off already, not when he’s just starting to feel like they could actually be - friends.

no, harry doesn’t need to ask questions. questions will mess things up, he thinks. questions will only scare louis.

it’s then, with that last thought, that harry realizes he understands what his mum means.


	9. Part Nine

three weeks pass and anne doesn’t walk in on harry and louis once, which harry takes as a massive success.

the routine they’d fallen into doesn’t change and harry likes it, has been absently finding (and trying not to focus on or over-think) that he’s kind of ridiculously happy. like, all the time. he hasn’t said anything to louis about what his mum said and louis still seems to - like him.

or like kissing him, but he doesn’t seem all that opposed to the human being attached to the mouth, so.

and he’s not entirely sure why the prospect of them even being friends, of louis actually not minding his company, makes him so excited. it’s not like - it’s not like he’s head over heels in love with him or anything; really, he doesn’t even know him that well. it’s just that louis is so vibrant and colourful and fun and everything else amazing and exciting that harry’s never been able to allow himself to be, yet the older boy’s taken some kind of interest in him of all people. and it just - it’s nice, that’s all. the thought of being friends with him is nice.

it’s a saturday, now, which means no tutoring and no louis, and harry stumbles down the stairs blindly, looking down the length of his body blearily before he enters the kitchen to ensure he’s not totally naked - yep, boxers are in place - before pushing open the door and plopping heavily onto one of the stools surrounding the kitchen island.

“morning, love,” a voice says from somewhere to his right, and harry grunts in response. he’s not a morning person, and he’d been up late texting louis, who apparently never sleeps. anne snorts at his greeting. “did you sleep well?” another grunt. his mother shakes her head and places a cup in front of him before filling it with tea, and harry’s morning mood dissipates slightly just at the sight of the steaming liquid.

“thanks,” he mutters, grabbing for the mug with needy fingers and taking a sip without waiting for it to cool. his mum nods, taking the seat beside him and just - looking at him. harry squirms under the gaze. “what?” he asks, looking down at his body self-consciously, hoping louis hadn’t left any questionable marks in any questionable places. anne shrugs in response.

“karen and i have to go to london tonight for work and we won’t be home until monday morning,” she says, resting her chin in her hands and narrowing her eyes. “i know it’s abrupt, but i can’t get out of it. can we trust you and liam in the house alone?”

harry’s eyes light up and he suddenly feels wide awake, because - yeah, okay, cool. “yeah!” he says immediately, sitting up a bit straighter at the prospect of having the house to himself for the weekend. “i mean —” he clears his throat, nods solemnly. “yeah, sure. definitely, mum.” anne cocks an eyebrow at his reaction, skeptical. “what?” he asks, defensively shrinking back a bit at the assuredly completely unwarranted look. “when have i ever misbehaved when you’ve left me alone?”

“never,” his mother answers unflinchingly. “but before last month you’d never went to a party and come back drunk or skipped a class or —”

oh, right. “okay okay, i get it!” harry interrupts, holding a hand up in surrender. “but don’t worry about it, mum. you can trust me,” he assures her. and then when she doesn’t look convinced, he sighs and tries, “okay, well. you can trust liam.”

harry tries to act offended when she grins and nods at those words, relaxing, but he finds himself biting back a laugh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

 

“we could play scrabble.”

harry grins, not looking at his friend as he continues counting the ceiling tiles from his spot on the living room floor. “when have you ever beat me at scrabble, liam?”

“never.”

“that’s no fun.”

liam sighs, smiling a bit himself. “yeah, you’re right.”

“there’s a friends marathon on telly.”

“we’ve seen every episode ever more than once, harry.”

and it’s harry’s turn to sigh. “yeah.”

his earlier excitement is quickly fading with every passing moment he and liam lay on the floor, unsuccessfully trying to think of something to do. he’s about to give up and just flick on the television, give into the fact that they’re ridiculously poor excuses for teenagers and find the friends marathon that’d been on since this morning, when the doorbell rings. liam wrinkles his nose. “did you order the pizza?” he asks, sitting up on his elbows. harry follows suit, standing all the way up and shaking his head, brow furrowed as he makes his way to the front door.

“if it’s a serial killer tell them i’m not home,” liam says, lying back down. “or ask them if they want to play hide and seek; that might amuse us for a bit.”

harry snorts, looking back at his friend with a hand on the doorknob. “yeah, it’ll be tons of fun. until we’re dead.”

liam says something that sounds like, “s’worth it,” under his breath just as harry’s pulling open the door, and - honestly, three guesses who’s there.

“louis?” harry asks, raising his eyebrows and trying not to smile. “i - what are you doing here?”

louis grins at him, hair windswept and a little damp from the rain (“oh, shit, come in,” harry rushes, closing the door behind him) with a flushed face and. wow. harry curls his toes.

“i heard you were home alone for the weekend,” louis says in something close to a drawl, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the stair railing as had become habit.

“heard because i told you,” replies harry, giving in and letting himself smile.

“yeah, well,” says louis, grin widening. he takes his eyes off harry and focuses somewhere to the left of his head and - oh, right, liam. harry turns around to see that his friend’s stood up, is awkwardly hovering in the spot where he’d been sitting with a hand at the back of his neck. “who’s your friend?”

harry turns back to face louis at the tone of his voice, unable to bite back the smirk that tugs at his lips when his eyes spark with something that harry refuses to ackowledge as jealousy, but - yeah. “it’s liam,” harry says quitely, feeling an unexpected blush - actually, blushes are always kind of a thing that should he expected with him, he supposes - spreading across his features, probably at the glint in louis’ eyes that disappears as soon as he explains that it’s liam.

he turns around again. “liam, this is -” he hesitates, flushing deeper as he remembers the few times he’d talked to his best friend about his - uh, his… other friend. “uh, this is louis.” ignoring the recognition in the form of a skeptical smile on liam’s face, he continues with an uneccesarry, “and louis, yeah - this is liam.”

“liam,” louis starts - of course louis starts - stepping forward and offering liam his hand. liam shakes it with a smile. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

“oh, likewise,” replies liam. his eyes flash mischievously (liam isn’t mischievous, what the fuck? does louis just bring the mischievous streak out in everybody at first glance?) at harry before, “though i think his stories about you are probably a bit different than his stories about me—”

“right!” harry interupts, stepping between the grinning boys and forcing a painfully fake laugh. “yeah, there’s lots of stories going around, isn’t there?” he looks at louis, who seems to be just barely controlling his laughter, then at liam, who’s grinning almost - devilishly. “let’s not get into any of them,” he says pointedly.

“later,” louis winks at liam from around harry. harry kind of feels like dying, but he figures he should be used to the constant embarrassment by now. “so what were you up to before i showed up?”

“counting ceiling tiles,” harry responds immediately. he’s kind of standing too close to louis’ side and he hopes it’s not insanely obvious.

louis grins and looks up at said ceiling tiles for all of about three seconds before looking back at him. “yeah, well, that simply won’t do.”

harry feels a nervous sort of expectance build up in his chest at those words. or maybe at the look on louis’ face as he slips his phone out of his pocket, fingering at it idly. “what, uh - what will do?” he finds himself asking.

“when did you say your mum was coming back?” the boy in front of him asks, and - oh god, no.

“monday,” harry responds immediately, “but we can’t - i don’t know what you’re thinking, lou, but we can’t, like—”

louis’ grin widens at his reaction and he takes a step closer, leans into harry’s space. for a second harry’s scared he’s actually going to kiss him - and it’s not as though liam doesn’t know, but it’s probably not really all that high up on his best mate’s list of things he’d like to see - but he just lets his lips hover devastatingly close to harry’s ear. “you mean to tell me you’ve got the house to yourself for an entire weekend and you’re not even a little bit tempted to throw a party?” his breath is hot and moist against the shell of harry’s ear and he shudders a bit, even though he knows he’s doing it on purpose.

he shakes his head, half in response to louis’ words and half in an attempt to clear it. “i don’t think i should,” is all he says, pathetically quiet and painfully hesitant. he almost wants to reach out and place his hands on louis’ waist but refrains. “mum’s coming home early monday morning—”

“it’s only saturday.”

“and i told her i’d behave—”

“you will,” louis insists. he backs up a bit, giving harry some space to breathe and a chance to look at him. “come on, curly. last time we were at a party together things didn’t turn out so bad, did they?”

harry finds himself grinning despite the slight feeling of panic steadily rising in his chest. “that was different,” he says honestly. “it wasn’t at my house.”

louis raises his eyebrows. harry thinks he looks like he might say something else, like he knows harry will give in if he tries just a bit harder, but, “okay,” is all he says, the deep persuasive note in his voice replaced with a nonchalant one, and - well, that’s not exactly what harry was expecting to hear. he furrows his own brows in response as louis slips his phone back into his pocket. “i’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“but—”

“so where were you?” louis asks suddenly, looking past him at liam. harry feels his mouth curve into a confused pout. “in the ceiling tile counting, i mean.”

liam blinks at him, eyes comically wide. “uh - thirty six, maybe, i don’t really—” he cuts off, looking at harry like he can read his mind, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

which he probably does.

“don’t, harry,” he says, shaking his head urgently. “she’ll kill you - she’ll kill me.”

harry looks back at him blankly for a second before reaching into louis’ pocket for his phone, pulling it back out and placing it in the older boy’s hand. louis looks at him with shining eyes. “you better start texting people, then.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

 

“this was a bad idea.”

“i know.”

“for a genius you’re pretty stupid.”

“i know.”

“i actually can’t believe this is happening,” liam says in a breath, standing in the doorway of harry’s kitchen and looking at the crowded living room with a stricken expression. “you - you’re having a party, harry. a party. with - alcohol, and loud music, and—”

“and stuff, liam, yeah. i know.” truth be told, harry’s panicking enough on his own and doesn’t particularly feel like he needs liam’s panic added on top of his own.

right, so more than an hour ago when louis had started calling people, he’d been okay.

when a few people had shown up and sat down around his living room, cracking open a couple beers - yeah, he’d still felt pretty alright.

but this - this blaring music and abundance of alcohol and people having sex with their clothes on on his couch and - is that guy fucking peeing in his mum’s potted plant? harry looks around his house in dismay, cringing when someone turns up the music from too-loud to painfully-loud.

he should have been expecting this, really. and he probably was, in retrospect - but he couldn’t not give louis what he wanted. he’s weak, alright? which is pretty well established already, but - christ, where the hell is louis, anyway? harry takes a deep breath and steps out of his kitchen, leaving a wide eyed and now silent liam behind, standing statue still beside the fridge.

“you bastard!”

harry jumps at the voice, looks to his left only to be greeted with a grinning and flushed niall. “niall,” he breathes in relief, elated by the familiar face. “hey.”

“i can’t believe i had to find out you’re having a party through sean!” niall says, clapping him hard on the back. he smells like beer and just - god, this should not be happening in harry’s house. “thought we were mates! mates tell other mates when they’re having crazy out-of-character parties!”

harry rolls his eyes. “we are mates, niall. it wasn’t planned. look, have you seen louis?”

niall grins and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek - yeah, he’s wasted, harry thinks. “think he’s playing spin the bottle in the dining room,” he answers, laughing when harry’s eyes widen. “i’m kidding! look, hazza, he’s over there,” he says, pointing lazily to his right. “don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

harry follows the direction of his hand and sure enough, louis’s standing off with zayn and a few other people harry recognizes from school. “you twat,” harry says, pushing niall gently in the chest.

“yeah, whatever,” says niall, grin still in place. “you should have seen the look on your face. hey, is that liam in the kitchen?”

harry only nods and niall takes off, slapping him once more on the shoulder. “sick party, by the way.”

harry nods again, weakly. “thanks,” he mutters insincerely. the small amount of comfort he’d garnered from niall’s presence dissipates as soon as the boy leaves his side and harry’s freaking out all over again, looking past the mess that was once his home and at louis, wondering if he should go join him, if that’s - okay. which is ridiculous because it’s his house, but.

it’s when the pretty brunette beside him takes a step too close that harry’s feet make up his mind for him and he saunters through the throng of people dancing - crushing a beer can beneath his feet on his way - and to the group of people standing by the fire place.

“uh - hey,” he says in an attempt at causality, trying not to look at the girl - eleanor, he thinks, from chemistry - standing beside louis. his eyes flicker down to where her fingers are fiddling idly with a loose string on his shirt and he resists the ridiculous urge to step possessively between them or something.

louis looks up and grins widely, like he’d been waiting for this. harry’s heart stutters. “hey, harry,” he replies, immediately disentangling himself from the group and the girl. “i’ve got something for you, actually. good timing.”

harry draws his eyebrows together, confused, and looks at the partygoers he’d been standing with curiously because - they don’t know about him and louis. nobody knows about him and louis; it’s not something they’ve ever talked about, the fact that they don’t tell anybody, it’s just kind of some unspoken agreement they’d fallen into over the last month that they just don’t mention it.

but, harry realizes as louis grabs his hand and leads him from the living room without another word - it’s not exactly like they try overly hard to hide it, either.

“what is it?” harry asks, unable to contain his smile because - louis has something for him and louis is leading him away from the party and just. yeah. the other boy only looks back and shoots him a grin, silently continues their path up the stairs. when they reach harry’s bedroom he stops and opens the door, wordlessly stepping aside to allow harry entrance before closing it behind them.

the not-quite-silence that follows is a bit eerie, because harry can still feel the thumping of the music, can hear the buzzing of the base, but the sound is much more tolerable and subdued and he can actually hear himself breathing; can hear himself think.

“hey there,” he says, looking at louis expectantly. louis only grins - okay, the silent act is getting old - and sits on the floor in front of his bed, leans against the side. harry follows suit without question, sitting cross-legged in font of him.

“awesome party you’ve got going on here,” louis says teasingly, looking at harry with sparkling eyes before pulling a clear plastic bag from his pocket. harry would smile at him if he wasn’t so busy eyeing the contents of the bag in curiosity. “whoever thought of it is an absolute genius.”

harry swallows hard where he’d normally laugh. “what’s that?” he asks, gesturing to the bag.

louis bites his lip. “don’t freak out or feel like you have to, okay?” he says, pulling an - a rolled joint, weed, from the tiny bag and—

“shit.” harry’s heart stutters nervously as he looks at louis and then at the contents of his hand with wide eyes. “i—”

“don’t have to, harry,” louis repeats firmly, but he’s grinning, probably at harry’s reaction. “i swear to god i won’t care, and we’ll probably end up making out either way, so—”

“no,” harry interrupts, shaking his head and swallowing again, hard. “i want to.” and he finds it’s kind of actually true. “just - light it, or whatever.”

louis’ grin widens, but the glint in his eyes says he’d been expecting about as much. harry thinks he should probably be a bit uncomfortable in the knowledge that louis knows he’s got him wrapped around his finger, but. meh. “you’re sure?”

“it’s not a big deal, right?” harry asks, biting his lip. louis shakes his head and shuffles a bit closer, so their knees are touching. okay, yeah - not a big deal. he can do this.

the older boy puts the joint in his mouth and lights it with the lighter that’d also been in the bag before inhaling deeply and coughing lightly in a way that suggests he isn’t exactly a pothead himself. smiling lazily, he offers it to harry with a raised eyebrow.

harry blinks once, staring at his outstretched hand and willing himself to take it before—

“hold on,” louis mutters, shuffling up on his knees and straddling harry, and if this is supposed to calm him down then - no, louis’ sudden presence on his lap makes his heartbeat pick up even more and he sucks in a breath.

“what are you doing?” he asks, but louis just inhales again, blowing a heavy puff of smoke over harry’s shoulder. after a second he responds to his question by carefully placing the lit end of the joint in his own mouth and leaning in close to harry, looking at him expectantly. harry catches on immediately, closing his eyes for a second, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, before leaning in the rest of the way and capturing the proper end in his own mouth.

louis grins around his end and holds harry’s gaze as he blows gently, effectively pushing a mouthful of smoke between harry’s own lips. harry opens his mouth from around it to inhale and coughs sharply immediately after, eyes watering. it tastes about as good as it smells, which - yeah, it’s gross.

“okay?” louis asks quitely from on top of him, one hand on harry’s shoulder and the other holding the joint to his mouth as he takes another long drag. harry nods, swallowing against the foul taste the smoke had left in his throat.

when louis flips it around again, taking the lit end in his own mouth, harry doesn’t hesitate before captuing the other and letting louis blow the smoke through the joint and into his mouth. he inhales it unsteadily and - fuck, he’s getting high in his bedroom with louis tomlinson when his mum is out of town and half the population of his school is on the floor below, probably trashing his house.

and he just really doesn’t care. christ, okay, so maybe that’s the already-starting high talking. or louis’ presence on top of him talking. either way, he’s not in his right mind.

“feel anything?” louis asks, blowing another puff of smoke off to the side. the joint’s small now, too small to continue what they’d been doing before. he shrugs, not sure what to say, and louis smirks. “mmm, you’ve only had a few puffs. c’mere.”

louis draws in another mouthful and for a second harry doesn’t understand the ‘come here,’ because it looks like he’s just taking a drag, but then he’s gripping harry’s jaw and pressing their open mouths together, passing the mouthful of smoke through their lips, and - wow, yeah, okay.

harry sucks it in then exhales onto louis’ ridiculously close face, grinning cheekily as the older boy wrinkles his nose and takes one last hit before offering the tiny stub to harry, whose cheeky grin widens as he refuses to accept the joint and opens his mouth expectantly instead.

“prat,” louis says under his breath, but he sucks the last of the smoke into his own mouth before pressing their lips together and blowing out.

he pulls back just enough so that harry can inhale it and then exhale, not breaking eye contact, before he’s pressing their mouths together with an entirely different purpose and harry’s letting his heavy eyes fall closed and digging his fingers into louis’ hips.

he tastes like weed but harry’s sure he does too so he’s really not complaining as louis doesn’t waste any time aquatinting their lips, unhesitatingly slipping his tongue past them to slide it wetly against harry’s. harry makes an involuntary noise of approval at the back of his still-burning throat and sucks on it gently, lying back on the floor and smiling against louis’ lips when he follows to avoid breaking the kiss.

he feels like under normal circumstances the floor may be a bit uncomfortable, especially with the extra weight on top of him, but with louis sucking on his bottom lip and carding his fingers through his hair like that he really can’t be bothered to care about any potential pain.

and he’s not sure if it’s the weed - yeah, it’s probably the weed - but he finds he can’t really bring himself to care about much of anything that isn’t the sloppiness of louis’ warm kisses as his jaw grows wet from them and louis makes his way down his neck, or the pressure of louis’ body aligning perfectly with his own.

“louis,” he breathes, just for the sake of saying his name. louis responds by rolling his hips downward purposefully and biting hard at harry’s collarbones, causing the younger boy to arch up and let out another whiny little gasp. “i want - can we—”

“yeah,” louis replies against his throat, and the vibrations of it give harry the bizarre urge to giggle.

so he does, trying and failing to bite his own lip and stifle it. “i haven’t even - oh, fuck - i haven’t even asked for anything yet.”

“i know,” louis hums against his skin, and harry giggles again breathily, unexpectedly ticklish. right, so he’s a little - high. his limbs are starting to feel heavier and his movements are becoming lazier as it begins to set in. “we can do whatever you want, harry.”

“i just want you,” harry replies, and even though the statement is honest enough, the low tone in which he says it is really fucking weird and he know he’s being weird, but. christ, he genuinely can’t make himself care. because making himself care would involve caring enough to make himself care and - no, what is he doing, focus. “all the time.”

louis doesn’t seem to mind, though, moaning lightly at harry’s words and grinding down against him again. harry threads an uncharacteristically steady hand through louis’ hair to tug him away from his neck and kiss him again, tongues meeting before lips do in what’s easily the filthiest kiss of harry’s life.

he runs his hands down louis’ spine to slip them into the back pockets of his jeans, holding him in place as he lifts his hips to grind up against him.

“shit, harry,” louis gasps against his lips, reaching for the buckle of harry’s trousers with the hand that’s not being used to hold him up. “we need to - do something, christ, or i’m going to come in my pants like a fucking fifteen year old.”

harry freezes, pulling back to blink owlishly up at him. louis looks confused for a moment before he seems to catch on to what he said and the corners of his mouth quirk up a bit. “um,” he says, voice strained like he’s holding back laughter. “fourteen year old, then.”

harry has no such quails about holding back his laughter and stares at louis for another second before snorting ridiculously, shaking his head at the boy on top of him and leaning up to seal their grinning mouths back together.

before they can get much further, though—

“wha - shit!”

louis pulls away from harry’s mouth with a slight popping sound and sits up, looking at the intruder with raised eyebrows as harry just continues to lie carelessly on the floor, letting his head fall against the ground with a thick sounding thump. “zayn.”

“um - yeah, wow. shit. thought it was the bathroom, lou - my bad,” the boy stutters out.

harry tilts his head back to get an upside down glimpse of a very flustered zayn and giggles again - god, why can’t he stop doing that-, causing the boy in the doorway to draw his eyebrows together. “right, so… bye, then,” zayn mutters, raking a hand through his quiffed hair and closing the door on louis and harry once more.

when louis looks back down at him he’s - grinning? “he doesn’t know about us,” he states simply.

harry bites his lip, more so to keep from laughing again than anything else. “why are you grinning, then?”

louis shrugs, leans back down so his face is hovering back above harry’s. “dunno. because i’m high, i guess.” yeah, harry gets that. “so, is the mood gone now, or…” he trails off, running a finger down harry’s stomach between their bodies.

harry wrinkles his nose and leans up to press their lips together briefly, experimentally. when he pulls back he’s sure his eyes must be shining. “no.” another kiss. “should it be?”

“probably,” louis says against his mouth with a smirk. but if the way he’s snaking his hand down harry’s trousers is any indication, the mood’s still perfectly intact.

they may wanna deal with zayn in the morning, though.


	10. Part Ten

“harry!”

harry looks at his half open bedroom door, waiting to see if his mother is going to continue with whatever she wants from the floor below or if she’s waiting for him to come downstairs. after a second of silence he sighs, pushing his maths book off his lap and rising from his bed to go find his mum.

she got home that morning before harry had left for school and everything had gone smoothly. no remnants or evidence of the party remained after louis, liam and niall’s gracious (actually extremely begrudging on all parts except louis, who had no problem with helping after harry had thrown the fact that it was all his idea (fault) in his face ) help cleaning up.

louis isn’t over because he’s practicing for his football game tomorrow night - apparently it’s an important one - and harry’d been taking the opportunity to focus on his other classes.

or classes in general.

when he reaches the bottom of the stairs his mum is standing behind the couch with a confused expression. “uh - mum?” he asks, stepping into the living room. “you know you’re meant to sit on the couch, right? not stand behind it.”

anne raises an eyebrow, choosing not to ackowledge his comment. “why is there a bra behind my couch?”

harry freezes. shit. “uhh…” he bites his lip, trying to think of a reasonable  
explanation. “i don’t know?” he settles on. right, smooth. “i don’t wear bras, mum.”

anne leans down and picks up said bra, dangling it in front of her with a skeptical expression. “and i don’t wear bras like this,” she says, tossing it in front of him and crossing her arms.

yeah, shit.

he gazes down at the pink polka-dotted push-up bra at his feet, swallowing hard. “i don’t know what to say,” he says, looking up at her with wide eyes. “i mean - should we call the cops? normally when people break in they take stuff, but leaving a bra? that’s new—”

“harry,” his mother cuts in, not cracking a smile. huh. he’s kind of offended; that was a good one. “how about you just tell me what happened.”

he winces at the icy tone, not used to hearing it directed at him. “i guess someone must’ve left it here…” he says quietly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“and why would someone leave a bra in my living room?”

“i have no idea,” he says honestly. “i didn’t see, i just - i may have had a party. or something. kind of.”

anne stares at him for a second with raised brows before shaking her head and falling back into the chair behind her. “goddammit, harry,” she says, and the half-harsh tone that had been cutting into her words is gone. harry takes a deep breath. “now i have to punish you.”

harry hesitates for a moment and then nods solemnly. “completely understandable.”

she lets her head lull to the side, eyeing him curiously. “and what do you think said punishment should be?”

harry opens his mouth to respond - probably with nothing more than a confused ‘uh…’ - but anne cuts him off, looking thoughtful. “let’s go with no louis,” she says decisively, and - god, is she grinning? sadist.

“it wasn’t his fault—” harry finds himself arguing in a panic; not only panic at the thought of ‘no louis’ for an undetermined amount of time - come on, it’s not like he needs him -, but panic at the thought that his mother may not approve of the boy. which is probably really dumb, but. yeah.

“calm down, harry,” anne interrupts. “i’m not saying it was.” harry lets out a quiet breath of relief. “though i’d bet my second born child that he had something to do with it.”

the corner of harry’s lip twitches up hesitantly. “i’m your second born child, mum.”

“yeah,” she agrees. “but this isn’t about him; this is about you being punished for - god, harry, you should have asked.”

harry’s grin fades and he nods slowly. “i really am sorry,” he says. “it won’t happen again. honestly.”

his mum nods, sighing. “i know it won’t, love,” she tells him, standing up and closing the distance between them slightly. “god, you’re ten times worse than gemma ever was; she never put me through this.”

harry allows himself a little choked laugh. “am i worse than you were?” he asks slyly. “because i remember this one story gran told me—”

“okay!” his mum says, clapping her hands together loudly. “i think we’re done here, yeah?” she steps past him, heading for the door and ruffling his hair on the way past. “i’m gonna go make supper. don’t have any fun; i think that’s the point of a punishment. or something.”

harry suppresses a groan - he owes her that - and nods, falling back onto the couch as soon as she exits the living room.

“shit,” he breathes aloud, then nearly jumps out of his skin when his mum peeks her head back in.

“i’m serious about the no louis thing, by the way,” she says, pointing a dishrag at him in what’s probably meant to be a threatening manner.

harry nods quickly, then bites his lip. “um - for how long, exactly?” he asks, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t.

anne pauses for a moment before shrugging. “until i say.”

harry’s heart sinks a bit but he nods again, wrinkling his nose. “okay.”

“and watch your language; i heard that,” she says, winking in what harry’s definitely going to take as a sign of forgiveness and exiting the room once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

okay, so no louis.

no big deal.

he can do this.

harry sighs, closing his maths book (again) with a satisfying slam and flopping back on his bed lazily.

christ, he doesn’t even have any maths homework, and ‘math for fun’ had become significantly less fun since he’d met louis.

wait, don’t think his name - damn it. he sighs again, digging his phone out of his pocket and staring at it in consideration.

he pulls up his contact list and hovers over liam’s name for a second, gnawing on his bottom lip, before quickly scrolling past it and selecting a very different contact.

‘you got me grounded, you twat.’ he types it out and sends it before he can over think it or feel guilty about it. (obviously his mum hadn’t thought this through very thoroughly, seeing as she hadn’t mentioned his phone.)

he receives a response almost immediately and bites back a ridiculous grin. ‘this is a really proud moment.’ louis’ reply reads and - god, of course it does.

‘shut up.’ harry sends back, his previous boredom completely forgotten. he props himself up on his bed a bit, hoping that louis doesn’t actually take his advice and opts to continue the conversation.

he does. ‘so what’s this mean, then?’ harry reads. ‘anne couldn’t have been too harsh, right?’

‘don’t call my mum anne. and let’s just say the words “no louis” were spoken.’

‘ouch…’ louis responds. ‘and here i thought ANNE and i were closer than that. huh.’

harry fails in biting back a grin this time and lets out a muffled little giggle. ‘she likes you,’ he assures him. ‘she just didn’t like the bra behind the couch or the piss in the plants.’

‘fair enough.’

‘she had to punish me somehow, i guess.’ harry sends out, and then, ‘this is all your fault, you know.’

‘i know :) but let’s not play the blame game, love.’

harry stares at the message for a second, blinking at the unexpected term of endearment and feeling his cheeks flush before louis follows it up with, ‘so you being banned from me is a big punishment, then? ;)’

harry lets out another shaky little laugh, fingers typing almost out of his control. ‘…just as bad for you as it is for me.’

he can almost see louis’ expression light up in a grin through the phone. ‘i can make do with my trusty right hand. it’s always worked for me before.’

‘wow, okay. mental image i didn’t want.’

‘yeah, right.’ harry can do nothing but grin at louis’ reply, because - well, yeah, the mental image of louis getting himself off isn’t all that bad.

he lets a couple minutes pass, itching to ask a question that’d been nagging at him relentlessly but unwilling to ruin the light mood of the conversation. he sucks in a breath and goes for it, fingers moving across the touchscreen before he can lose his nerve. ‘so… have you talked to zayn?’

this response comes slower than the others - or maybe that’s just because harry’s holding his breath. ‘no.’ it says plainly, and - yeah, the playful mood’s been effectively diminished, courtesy of harry styles. dammit.

‘are you going to?’ he sends back.

‘dunno.’

harry sighs, staring at the message for a second before typing back a simple, ‘okay.’ and pushing it out of his mind.

he sets his phone on his bedside table, assuming that the conversation’s ended, but when he gets up to go get ready for bed he hears the sound of the buzz and backtracks, opening the message curiously.

‘so, does this grounding mean you can’t come to my game tomorrow night?’

‘definitely not.’

’:(’

harry’s heart skips a beat ridiculously at the silly sad face as he stares at it for a moment, biting back a smile, before replying with, ‘did you want me to?’

‘yeah.’ louis replies simply, and then, ‘how am i going to be at peek performance without my favourite cheerleader?’

harry does smile now, unable to hold it back, and sits back down on the edge of his bed. ‘if you’re picturing me in a cheerleader’s skirt right now i am going to feel incredibly violated.’

‘…’

‘not happening, lou.’

‘buzz kill.’ louis texts back, and again harry can picture his amused expression perfectly. ‘if i lose tomorrow i’m blaming you.’

‘technically you’ll be blaming yourself seeing as you’re the reason i can’t go.’

‘nope, still blaming you.’ harry almost laughs again before louis follows up with, ‘i should probably get some sleep for the game though. goodnight x’

‘goodnight, lou x’

harry sighs in contentment and snuggles into the blankets, before-bed ritual forgotten as he tries pointedly to not think about louis and his aforementioned right hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“hey, rebel,” is louis’ greeting at school the next day, as he slips into his seat beside harry and picks up the pen harry’d put on his desk as he took out his own. “how’s the grounded life treating you?”

niall snorts on the other side of him before harry can get an indignant (amused) word out, nudging his side. “dude, you never told me you got caught.”

harry shrugs a shoulder. “she didn’t find out until last night,” he tells him. “if you had anything to do with the polka dot bra behind the couch i’m ending this friendship immediately.”

niall laughs again. “oh, god, she found a bra?” he asks, far too happy. “christ, that’s brilliant.” and then, in response to harry’s raised brow, he adds with an eye roll, “i don’t wear bras, you dolt.”

“doesn’t mean you don’t take them off.”

the irish boy beside him scoffs. “oh, don’t blame me, we both know tommo talked you into it—”

“hi.”

niall cuts off at the new voice and all three boys turn to the source: a pretty brunette girl taking the empty seat - louis’ old one - in front of them.

it’s louis who responds, grinning. “hey, el.”

el? harry drags his eyes away from the girl in front of him to shoot louis a curious look, which goes completely unnoticed as he continues to grin happily at eleanor. since when are they on a nickname basis? harry’d never even seen them talk before his party.

the girl in question smiles, tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear in what’s got to be faux-shyness.

harry doesn’t like her.

“what’s up?” she asks, reaching into her bag for her things, totally turned around ir her seat. when louis only shrugs a shoulder, she tacks on, “ready for the game tonight?”

louis nods, grin widening. “of course. you going?”

“of course,” she shoots back. “wouldn’t miss it.” harry’s stiff beside louis, an uncomfortable feeling forming in his stomach that he recognizes easily but refuses to acknowledge because he hasn’t got any right to be feeling it; he hasn’t got any right to feel jealous, because louis isn’t his and he’s allowed to talk to other people.

even too-pretty girls with nicknames who’re looking at him like they’re having immense difficulty keeping their hands to themselves.

christ, okay, calm down. it’s not a big deal. not a big deal not a big deal not a big deal.

“you’re the one who threw the party the other night, right?”

harry starts, not expecting to be addressed, and blinks once. “uh - yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “guess i am.”

she nods, not even managing to give him a proper smile without her eyes darting back to louis for a second. “it was a lot of fun.”

more fun for me, harry resists the urge to say, because she seems nice and this feeling of disdain steadily rising in his chest is totally unwarranted. he feels kind of guilty for it, actually.

but mostly he just wants her to leave.

he manages a quiet, “thanks,” and then mr. cardle is calling for their attention and eleanor’s mercifully turning around in her seat.

harry swallows down his discomfort and focuses on cardle’s words, staring straight ahead at the board and - you know, not at louis, because his thoughts are probably written all over his face and he’d really rather louis not notice. he doesn’t miss the older boy smirking at him though, can see it out of the corner of his eye.

and he definitely, definitely doesn’t miss it when eleanor turns around and places a ripped off piece of paper on louis’ desk, smiling flirtatiously before turning back to face the front of the classroom without a word.

harry clenches a fist and glances down - he’s not trying to read it, honestly, her writing is just stupidly big and he can’t help but notice a phone number is scribbled at the top of the note, followed by a neatly handwritten, ‘i’ll cheer for you tonight, yeah? :)’

he doesn’t realize how long he’s been looking - glaring - at the slip of paper on the desk to his right until he lets his gaze travel upwards and finds that louis is already looking at him, brows raised and amusement shining bright in his blue eyes.

he glances at the back of eleanor’s head for a second and then looks back to harry with an unabashed smirk, placing a hand lightly on the other boy’s thigh and shaking his head slightly. whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.

harry just swallows hard and leans over the few inches separating them to whisper in louis’ ear, cupping his hands around his mouth the hide the fact that his lips are gently brushing the shell. “i’ll be at the game,” he whispers tensely, because he’s a fucking idiot and god, shouldn’t he be smart enough to think before speaking by now?

but he was thinking, and he was thinking about louis winking at eleanor in the stands tonight instead of him and the irrational feeling of jealousy over the boy who he’s got absolutely no claim to was rising high in his throat like bile.

the hand on his thigh tightens; he can feel louis’ smirk against where his hand’s placed on his cheek before the older boy pulls back slightly, just enough so that he can look into harry’s ridiculously readable eyes, and lets out a breathy little laugh at whatever he finds there. “good,” is all he says, slowly letting his fingers slide up harry’s leg until he reaches the crease where his thigh meets his hip and pulling his hand away altogether.

harry lets out a breath.

fuck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“okay, so just sneak out,” is niall’s advice at lunch after harry explains his dilemma, shrugging like he can’t understand why the hell harry is freaking out about this. “no big deal.”

the irish boy groans when harry only pouts, crossing his arms and slouching low in his seat. “i don’t think i can,” he says honestly. “my mum was actually kind of upset.”

niall rolls his eyes. “well, duh. or you wouldn’t have to sneak out,” he says through a mouthful of potatoes. “aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

“not at this stuff!” harry argues, poking hopelessly at the turkey on his plate. he really can’t wipe the frown off his face. he thinks it may just be a permanent addition. “i know maths, niall, not proper punishment etiquette.”

niall grins messily from around his full mouth, swallows loudly. “that’s just the thing, my little naive harry: there is no etiquette to it,” he shrugs. “there are no rules to breaking the rules. just do what you want.”

harry wrinkles his nose. “clearly there’s no etiquette to table manners, either,” he digs. “you’ve got gravy on your eyebrow.”

niall laughs loudly at that, swiping a thumb across his eyebrow and licking it. right.

harry tries to grin back at him but his palms are sweaty and his mind is racing, because - no, he can’t do this. his mum doesn’t deserve it and he’ll only get caught and it’s not him, he can’t.

except - eleanor.

“stop panicking, harry,” niall tells him, interpreting his silence for exactly what it is. “you’re the one who told him you’d go. so go, if you want. if you don’t think you can do it, don’t.”

harry nods at the simple advice, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. right, no big deal; it’s not like louis’d be mad at him or anything.

it’s just - he can see the note clearly in his head, ‘i’ll cheer for you,’ and the fucking ‘i’ was dotted with a heart and everything and isn’t that just wonderfully cliche?

“uh… don’t look behind you, either,” niall says suddenly, wincing slightly. harry turns around (obviously), eyes naturally drifting towards the cafeteria entrance. where louis’s entering. with eleanor. god dammit.

the girl’s bobbing happily beside him as louis tells what’s got to be an animated story, and she’s looking far too happy for a casual conversation. harry draws his brows together.

“christ, mate,” niall says, drawing his attention away from the pair. “you look murderous.” harry remains silent but tries to straighten out his expression, taking a deep breath. niall sighs. “look, have you tried talking to him?”

“about what?” harry shoots back. “the fact that i’m getting pathetically  
jealous over a girl he’s been talking to for like a day when i’ve got no claim to him whatsoever? no, thanks, i think i’ll keep that little embarrassing tidbit of information to myself. and you.”

“relax, harry, i’m not the one hanging off tommo’s arm.”

harry sighs. “sorry,” he says quietly, groaning lightly and running a hand through his curls. “i think i’m going insane.”

niall only shrugs. “s’okay, i get it,” he says, and harry kind of really likes him. “but i meant, like - have you tried talking to him about the fact that you’d like to have some kind of claim to him?” the boy asks seriously, raising his eyebrows, and harry stiffens.

“i never said i did,” he replies, swallowing thickly.

“no,” niall agrees easily, nodding. “but you look at him like he’s fucking jesus or something and i think that says enough, to be honest.”

harry blinks. he considers laughing or heartily denying it or playing dumb but ends up just flicking his eyes over to where louis and eleanor are still standing in line at the salad bar, flushing a deep shade of red.

when he looks back to niall he feels kind of defeated, and the boy’s looking at him with poorly veiled pity written clearly over his pale face. “kill me,” he tells him sincerely, burying his face in his hands.

well. that’s definitely not a denial, is it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

he’s fully dressed and ready to go when he decides it’s just not happening.

he’d changed his mind about six (million) times throughout the course of the day, coming to the conclusion that it just wasn’t worth getting into more trouble for and further disappointing his mum - but then remembering eleanor’s pretty little smile and changing his mind completely. repeatedly. 

but now, as he stands at his window, staring out at the balcony that would be oh-too easy to climb down from, just half an hour before the game, he realizes he can’t.

he’s lucky this is his mum’s only punishment and he doesn’t want to lose any more of her trust, even if that means letting eleanor be the one louis winks at before the game - he shudders internally at the thought - and he’s pretty sure he’s doing the right thing, but it feels ridiculously shitty.

so he’s just shrugging off his jacket determinedly when there’s a knock on his door, and he throws it on his bed quickly in an attempt to not seem too guilty before calling out, “come in.”

his mum opens the door with a creak, closing it behind her and leaning against it. her eyes travel knowingly from the coat messily sprawled out on his bed to him, standing pointlessly beside the window. “sneaking out?” she asks casually, raising a brow.

for the second time that day he considers playing dumb or flat out denying, and for the second time that day he ends up being completely truthful. “i was planning on it,” he says, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. “changed my mind, though.”

anne nods easily, crossing her arms. “and why’s that?”

harry shrugs. “dunno,” he lies, looking up at her and swallowing. “i just thought better of it, i guess.”

his mother nods again. “i see,” she says slowly. harry wishes she’d get mad or make a joke or something, because this is getting kind of awkward. “right, well, it’s 8:34. game starts at 9:00, right?”

harry nods slowly, confused. his mum reaches into her pocket and dangles the keys out in front of her, raising her eyebrows. “need a drive?”

“i - what?” harry stutters out, staring dumbly at the woman in front of him, brows rising so high he’s sure they’re hidden beneath his fringe. “are you serious? this isn’t some weird form of punishment, is it? pretending to give me what i want just to yank it out of my grasp last minute, sadistically crushing my hopes and dreams after waggling them in front of my face?”

the corner of his mum’s lip twitches. “hmm, i hadn’t thought of that…”

harry stands up quickly, face flushing excitedly. “i swear i won’t do it again, mum. honestly, it was dumb and just a one time thing and i’m sorry and—”

anne interrupts him with a sigh and a shake of her head. “it’s okay, harry. it might be considerably less okay if i wasn’t an absolute devil child growing up, but - it’s okay.”

harry lets out a light little chuckle, nodding a bit before his mum continues, expression changing into something startlingly hesitant.

“it just - it’s tough without your dad sometimes, you know?” she says, and harry freezes. “and i want to know that i’m doing this whole parenting thing right; and i don’t want to punish you, not when i don’t actually feel like punishment is necessary, it makes me uncomfortable - but i’d be a bad parent if i didn’t, right?” she says it in a rush, like she’s scared harry will stop her or she’ll lose her nerve if she doesn’t hurry up or something. “and don’t think this has anything to do with that party, love, honestly; it’s not a big deal. i’m actually happy you’re adjusting, but - i don’t know. i just wish i had some help sometimes.”

harry blinks at her owlishly, opening his mouth a few times but finding he’s got no idea in hell what to say, because - yeah, that was about the last thing he was expecting to hear.”mum…” he tries, shaking his head a little.

“oh god, harry,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to dump all that on you, but i haven’t really got anybody else to - dump things on, i guess.” her eyes are a bit shinier than usual and harry doesn’t know what to do.

his father just isn’t a subject that comes up. he died of cancer with little warning when harry was nine and the first year or so had been tough, obviously, but they’d gotten through it well enough and harry’d found it was easier if he just wasn’t mentioned, which probably sounds unbelievably cruel or something, but - yeah. he doesn’t think he’s properly talked to his mum about him for years. he doesn’t think he’s properly thought about him for years.

so when he steps forward to wrap his arms around her neck it’s more on impulse than anything, aimlessly searching for something to say as his mum rests her head gently on his shoulder. “seriously, sweetheart, i’m sorry for dropping that on you,” she says again, into his shirt. “i - that was really kind of poorly timed, wasn’t it?” she chuckles, and it sounds almost kind of watery and. shit. 

harry shakes his head again, hugging her tighter. “don’t apologize, mum,” he says quietly, trying to take in the drastic change of topic. “it’s okay.” he takes a deep breath, staring at the door behind his mum’s back and nearly choking on guilt. “you’re doing an amazing job,” he tries. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean for—”

“god, no, harry,” she cuts him off, pulling back and holding him at arms length, looking at him seriously. “i told you, this hasn’t got anything to do with you or your party or anything like that. it’s just me, okay? sometimes it’s a tough job to do alone, that’s all. i just want you to know that i’m trying.”

harry can only nod, watching as his mum takes a steadying breath. “and i’m ridiculously proud of you, don’t ever think that i’m not; even if you are a little brat sometimes.” she’s grinning, then, and the mood in the room instantly lifts a bit. “most of the time, actually.”

harry laughs quietly, eyes crinkling. “thanks, mum,” he says, and he means it seriously. “you’re honestly doing an incredible job, though. i may be a bit of a brat but gemma turned out okay, right? at least there’s that.”

she laughs loudly at that, shaking her head fondly and biting her lip for a moment in apparent contemplation before holding up the keys again. “right, so… do you need a drive to this game or not?”

harry’s grin widens and he hugs her again, just long enough to say, “i love you,” before pulling back.

“yeah, you better,” she tells him, opening the door. she wipes at her eyes a bit even though harry’s pretty sure they’d remained dry and lets out a breath. “but i love you, too,” she says, smiling.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

the game’s about to start when he gets there, kissing him mum on the cheek in thanks and hurrying up into the stands to find niall. he finds him in the front again - face painted - and slips down beside him with a muttered, “hey.”

niall jumps. “jesus, harry!” he yelps, looking at the boy beside him accusingly. “warn a guy!”

harry raises an eyebrow. “the ‘hey’ was my warning, mate.”

niall ignores that. “so i take it you snuck out, then?” he asks, face splitting into a grin. he tries to pinch harry’s cheek and harry bats him away. “my baby’s all grown up.”

the younger boy snorts. “no, actually. my mum drove me.”

niall pauses, opening his mouth and then closing it a few times until, “i - what? are you kidding?” harry shakes his head. “god, that is so unfair. i want an anne,” he whines, pouting.

harry chuckles a bit at that, letting his eyes travel down to the the players wandering around the field, waiting for the game to begin. “get your own.”

“they don’t sell them at tesco, i checked.”

“aw, shame.”

he thinks niall might say something else but he’s not paying attention, because he finally finds and makes eye contact with louis on the firld and the older boy just looks so pleased that he’s there and harry kind of wants to die. louis raises an eyebrow in approval and, feeling gutsy, harry mouths, “score for me.”

louis’ half grin turns into a full-blown smirk and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, nodding once before the whistle blows and he’s made to make his way over to the the coach with the rest of the team.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

once the game is finished (louis scored twice and both times looked back at harry, shit eating grin gracing his face as he raised his eyebrows cockily, as if to say ‘happy?’) and the players have moved off the field, harry’s phone buzzes.

he opens the message and grins when he sees it’s from louis. ‘meet me outside the changing rooms in 10?’

he really can’t help the smirk that forms on his face. “see you around, mate,” he bids niall goodbye immediately, and the older boy gives him a knowing grin and ruffles his hair annoyingly before he steps down off the bleachers, making his way down to the changing rooms.

when he gets there he leans against the outside wall, trying not to look suspicious (of what? he doesn’t even know) as he waits around for a few minutes until it seems that literally every last member of the team apart from louis has left. sighing, he pulls open the door with little hesitance and steps inside.

he walks past the sitting area and through the empty showers to get to the locker room, slowing only once he hears voices.

“don’t make a big deal out of it,” one says, and harry instantly recognizes it as louis. he’s about to step through when louis continues, causing harry to hesitate in rounding the corner. “seriously, zayn, i’m just fooling around. it’s nothing.”

harry’s heart stutters and he foolishly steps back a bit, hiding himself more fully behind the half-wall separating the lockers and showers.

“i honestly don’t care if it is something, mate,” another voice replies - zayn, obviously. “but you could’ve told me, is all i’m saying.”

harry’s stomach churns unpleasantly and he’s pretty positive he knows what they’re talking about. and pretty positive he should either leave or announce his presence, but.

naturally, he stays where he is, breathing slowly and quietly.

“there’s nothing to tell,” louis insists. there’s the sound of a bag zipping up and a locker closing. “really.”

he hears zayn sigh. “well, what - are you, like, gay?” he asks, pretty much confirming what harry already knew the conversation was about. his heart’s pounding so loudly he’s almost scared they’ll hear it. “because i’m pretty sure that’s something to tell your best mate, but - whatever, i guess. doesn’t matter.”

“i’m not gay,” louis says, and zayn lets out a low snort. “okay, well - maybe a little gay,” louis corrects himself, voice mildly amused. but also a bit shaky, harry thinks, and christ; he really shouldn’t be listening to this but his feet just won’t move. “but i told you, this thing with - yeah, it’s seriously just a bit of fun. you of all people should be able to understand that.”

he hears zayn sigh, and then the sound of another locker closing. “whatever, man,” he repeats. his voice sounds closer so harry shuffles further against the wall, holding his breath. “just don’t break the poor kid’s heart or something; he doesn’t exactly look at you like you’re ‘a bit of fun’.”

“fuck off,” louis replies, completely lacking any trace of venom. “you don’t know him.”

“do you?”

“yes,” presses louis firmly. harry can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“later, mate,” says zayn, and suddenly harry can see the back of his head as he’s walking out through the showers, completely oblivious to the younger boy’s presence.

he lets out a breath the second the door closes behind him, letting his head fall against the wall. he knows he should be upset or mad or something but all he feels is a sort of unsurprised disappointment, a feeling he’s not entirely sure what to do with. he knew that they weren’t, like - together, or anything. he gets that. hearing louis say it out loud really doesn’t change anything.

just stings a bit, is all.

sucking in another shaky breath, he rounds the corner into the locker room. louis’ back is to him as he stuffs his jersey into his bag so harry scuffs his feet awkwardly, clears his throat. “good game,” he says, and his voice is too-loud in the empty room, it almost echoes.

louis jolts, turning to look at him with wide eyes. harry pretends the glint to the blue orbs doesn’t look like guilt as the boy breaks into a hesitant grin. “hey, curly,” he says. “how long have you—”

“not long,” harry shrugs, stepping more fully into the room. “you and i totally have different interpretations of ‘10 minutes’, though. thought you were gonna leave me to die out there.”

louis laughs. “sorry,” he says simply. he takes a breath. “so how’d you manage to get here, then?”

“i think my mum may have revoked my grounding,” harry tells him, shrugging a shoulder. “she’s waiting in the parking lot now, so i don’t really have much time…” 

louis nods, and harry reckons he definitely knows that he heard as much as he did, because the air around them is awkward and weird and tensiony and just - totally unlike louis. he doesn’t like it.

the boy in front of him laughs breathily again, nodding, and they fall back into that uncommon silence for moment before louis sighs in resignation.

“c’mere, then,” he says lowly, and harry instantly obeys, stepping in close. louis bites his lip for a second, looking at him thoughtfully - harry’s face heats up ridiculously under the gaze - before leaning in and pressing their lips together in a weirdly chaste kiss, almost hesitant in a way that they’ve never been.

harry sighs into it, bringing his hands up to rest on louis’ hips for just a second before pulling back and effectively breaking the kiss.

“we’re friends, right?” he asks impulsively, stupidly, still close enough that he can feel louis’ breath. the lighting in the room is dim and he doesn’t even know why it matters, but the questions slips out completely without any thought or even approval, like he couldn’t hold it back.

louis blinks once and then leans back in, bringing him in again for a far more familiar kind of kiss as he pushes him gently against the row of lockers behind them. “yeah, babe,” he pulls back to answer, and the tone in which he says it almost sounds like an apology. harry resists the urge to cringe and lets out a breath against louis’ mouth, which is still almost touching his as the other boy speaks. “we’re friends.”

and then he’s kissing him again before harry has a chance to respond, threading his fingers into his hair firmly and pressing him up against the lockers with intent, like he’s trying to ensure that nothing else is said about the matter.

so harry just grips louis’ hips tighter and kisses him back because - fuck it.


	11. Part Eleven

if they were expecting things to get worse after their little conversation in the changing room, they were dead wrong. 

“louis, you’re not even paying attention,” harry sighs.

“yes i am.”

“no, you’re not. you’re doing that thing where you stare at my lips and pretend to be listening to what i’m saying when in reality you’re just imagining me sucking you off.”

louis grins a bit. “i thought that was considered paying attention.”

“you thought wrong.” harry closes the chemistry book with a snap and repositions himself on the bed so he’s facing louis, pouting. he reaches up a bit to toy with the strings of louis’ hoodie. “you need to know this stuff, lou. it’s on the test next week.”

“i may be wrong, but i’m pretty sure there’ll be nothing about you sucking me off on the text next week,” louis comments idly, face completely straight. “unless cardle’s more fun than i’d thought.” harry lets go of the strings of his hoodie to shove him in the shoulder, but he’s smiling a bit so louis takes it is a success. 

“quit fucking around, i’m being serious!”

louis smirks a little and rolls so he’s hovering above the younger boy, pressing him into the bed. “i think you’ve got it backwards, love,” he says, watching as harry turns to putty and blushes prettily beneath him, lets his hands come to rest naturally on louis’ waist. “i think,” he continues, pressing a kiss to harry’s neck. “that we should quit being so serious and do a lot more fucking around.”

“you’re horrible,” harry says, but he tilts his head back to give louis better access so louis figures he can’t be that horrible. he takes advantage of the generosity and harry sighs happily, lets his fingers trail lightly up louis’ back to fist a bit in his shirt. “promise we’ll get the work done tomorrow?” he asks, voice breathy. 

louis kisses his way up harry’s neck until he gets to his mouth and stops, hovering above it. “mhm,” he says unconvincingly, kissing him lightly. “promise.”

harry giggles and louis dutifully ignores the ridiculous fucking flutter in his chest, because christ, this kid. “you’re a liar,” said kid rebuts, and before louis can respond he’s tangling his fingers in his hair and tugging him down for a proper kiss. 

louis can’t quite bite back his grin at first so it’s a little awkwardly angled until he can relax his mouth enough to latch it onto harry’s bottom lip and suck gently, drawing a happy little noise from the back of harry’s throat and causing him to spread his legs a bit wider to accommodate louis between them. “i have to leave in a few minutes,” he warns against harry’s mouth, letting his hand trail down his thigh anyway. “don’t get too excited, babe.”

harry huffs and pulls back a bit. he lets his eyes roam over louis’ face for a second, like he’s building up the courage to speak, before, “where do you even go?”

he bites his lip as soon as he says it but continues looking up at louis with expectant eyes, like he can’t quite bring himself to regret it, until louis sighs, shifts a bit on top of him. “i have a life outside of studying for chemistry and making out with you, curly,” he says, cocking an eyebrow. 

“i know that,” says harry quietly. “i’m just curious, s’all.” 

louis hesitates. it’s not like he’s got anything to hide, really, but after his conversation with zayn last week he really doesn’t feel the need to open up with harry any more than he already has. because, like - though he’s pretty sure harry gets it, gets what they are (fuck, no, what they aren’t) and where they stand, he still doesn’t feel like instilling any false hope. 

but harry’s blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes and louis can’t really say no, so. he sighs. “it’s not a big deal,” he says honestly, rolling off him to lie side by side on the bed. “really. it’s just, like - my mum works at the hospital, yeah? and most of the time she gets late shifts, so i kind of have to look after my sisters. or whatever.”

it’s quiet for a second. “i didn’t even know you had sisters.”

“i have a whole pack of them. you want a couple?”

harry giggles a bit before sitting up and moving to straddle louis gently so he can see his face again. louis raises an eyebrow up at him but remains still. “christ, louis, i thought you had some kind of secret mob life going on or something. why didn’t you just tell me you had to babysit?”

louis shrugs. “never felt the need, i suppose,” he says. “s’not something i think about.” and okay, so that’s a lie, but he doesn’t really feel like explaining any further. 

(he doesn’t feel like explaining that his sisters are the one chink in his armour and that talking about them, even like this, makes him feel ridiculously uncomfortable and exposed.)

so he sits up and presses a quick kiss to harry’s lips before shoving him playfully off of his lap and moving to collect his books. “see you in class tomorrow?”

harry nods from his place on the bed, curls bouncing, but he’s biting his lip and looking thoughtful. “i could always—” he cuts off, shaking his head. 

louis raises his brows as he’s shrugging on his jacket. “always what?”

“it’s kind of - like, you don’t have to—” he huffs out a frustrated breath again, blushing lightly and looking (not at all adorably) hesitant. “i could always maybe just come with you?” he tries after a second. before louis can properly react he continues, “not as - anything, you know? but we really do need to go over some stuff before the test, and gemma’s coming home from uni in a couple days so i don’t know how much time i’ll have to—”

“okay,” louis says. 

harry cuts off. “okay?” he repeats, like he’s surprised. 

“yeah. okay.” louis swallows, confused as to why he’s agreed so easily. zayn’s the only one who ever really comes to his house and he’s got a litany of don’t instil false hope don’t instil false hope don’t instil false hope playing over and over in his head and okay, maybe he’s a bit stupid, but. it would be a lot more convenient if they had more time to study, and louis does get bored, seeing as the girls are all in bed by 9:00 anyway, and - shit. “…friends do that, right?” he says with a shrug, just to be clear. 

rather than looking a bit deflated at the last bit like louis’d half expected, harry looks over the moon, cheeks flushing pleasantly. he nods. “yeah, they do.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

his sister’s fucking love him, surprise surprise. 

and so does his mum, which - okay, that one’s an actual surprise, because she shouldn’t have even been home to properly meet him. 

“hello, love,” she greets over her shoulder when louis enters the kitchen, harry trailing a bit awkwardly behind him. she’s not in her uniform and louis raises an eyebrow when she turns around from cutting up some vegetables. “oh,” she says when she spots the boy behind him. “who’s this?”

harry shoots her a smile. “i’m harry,” he introduces himself, sticking a hand out for her to shake. she wipes her own hands off on her jeans before accepting his outstretched limb and grinning back, clearly charmed already. it’s the damn eyes, louis thinks. they’re all innocent looking and painfully misleading, really. “nice to meet you.”

“jay,” his mum replies. she’s got a bit of a mischievous glint in her eyes and louis curses under his breath. “so you’re the infamous harry, then?”

harry wrinkles his nose and looks at louis, blushing deeply. “infamous?” he asks with a raised brow, crossing his arms. 

“hardly,” louis scoffs, glaring at his mum in irritation. he doesn’t mention him that often, christ. and when he does he’s usually only talking about chemistry. (of the scientific kind, that is.) “shouldn’t you be out making a living or something?” he asks her.

jay rolls her eyes and gives harry a look that says ‘kids are ridiculous, right?’ and oh my god, he’s fucking fifteen, so. “not until 7:00 tonight,” she replies, turning back to her cutting board. “cheryl has somewhere to be tomorrow morning and apparently the two hours makes a difference, so we switched.”

louis nods even though she’s not looking. “where are the girls?”

“watching a movie in lottie’s room, i think,” she says, throwing a glance back at harry. “better keep fizz away from those curls, sweetie. she’s going through a hairdressing phase.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

they don’t keep fizz away from harry’s curls. 

they don’t keep fizz away from much of harry’s anything, actually. 

it had taken the girls all of thirty seconds to stop fixing him with their hilariously calculating glares and warm up to him, and by the time louis’ mum is calling them back downstairs for supper, harry’s look is complete with a series of tiny little bows scattered throughout his hair and bright pink blush gracing his already rosy cheeks and a bit of shiny lipgloss that he tries in vain to lick off when the girls aren’t looking and louis’ quite pleased by it all, to be honest. 

he drops the chemistry book that harry had tossed at him (before he’d been bodily guided down to the floor by the twins) with a firm “chem, lou,” (which had really meant ‘i’m distracting your little sisters by letting them use my face as a canvas so you owe me at least one paragraph read’) and kneels down behind him so his lips are lined up with the younger boy’s ear.

“regretting this yet?” he asks lowly, letting a hand card through his bow-filled curls while all of his sisters (minus lottie, who seems to think she’s above the whole thing and is staring firmly at an episode of icarly playing out on her little tv) are rooting through the cheap little makeup set that fizz had gotten for her birthday. 

harry doesn’t say anything, but the happy little shine to his eyes when he turns around to give louis an amused look makes his heart stutter a bit. he curses internally at the feeling but pecks harry on the lips anyway - and they taste like cherry, which is weird. 

louis can’t actually see if he’s blushing through the makeup, so he reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, grinning at the warmth he finds and glancing up at lottie just in time to see her raising her brows at him and looking back to the television. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

so over the next week or so, louis’ house becomes a bit of a thing.

unsurprisingly, they get no more studying done there than they did at harry’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

harry feels his eyes closing as he stares unseeingly at the projector placed at the front of the classroom, fighting to keep them open. he can hear niall snoring beside him and it’s that that keeps him from delving into the darkness attempting to take over, along with the sad knowledge that he drools in his sleep and louis’ hand rhythmically rubbing circles into his thigh. 

at first harry had hardly noticed his administrations, louis’ fingers only just barely brushing his leg through the material of his trousers. but as he begins to knead firmly at harry’s flesh the younger boy can’t help but get kind of caught up in it, closing his eyes and letting out a breathy sigh of contentment as louis’ fingers trace the crease of his trousers.

his leg jerks, though, when louis’ hand wanders to the left and begins massaging at the inside of his thigh. 

“easy, tiger,” he mutters without looking at him, feeling his neck burn hotly as he leans back in his chair and squeezes his legs together. 

“what?” louis whispers, faux innocent, and he’s so close that his warm breath moistens harry’s ear. he shivers. “relax, harry. i’m just - easing the tension, yeah?” he slips his hand out from where it was trapped between harry’s legs and moves it up higher, stroking lightly at the spot where harry’s thigh and hips meet, dangerously close to what harry’s worried he’s after. 

“yeah, that’s great, but i’m not tense,” harry argues, dropping his hand down on top of louis’. but he doesn’t push it away; just rests it on top, following it as it moves across his thigh.

“i don’t know about that. that test’s tomorrow, isn’t it? stressful times,” louis shoots back under his breath, moving his hand lower to grab at harry’s crotch before harry has a chance to even think about stopping him. 

his breath catches in his throat and his legs fall open of their own accord, because if they’d have been listening to harry at that moment they probably would have got up and carried him out of the classroom. 

“louis, you prick,” he breathes, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in an effort to calm himself down. 

“mmm,” louis murmurs in agreement, palming at harry’s increasingly interested dick through his trousers as harry tries to find the words to tell him ‘no’ - well, ‘no’ would actually probably work just fine in itself. what he needs is the willpower to make himself say it.

“louis,” he whines quietly, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been so thankful that they sit in the back row before in his life. he opens his eyes and does a cursory glance around the room; almost everyone’s heads are resting on their desks and he guesses probably about half of them are asleep, including mr. cardle. the room is dark and the movie is loud enough to drown out any sounds, but. still. “we’re in class,” he tries, tightening his hand over louis’. which he probably should have thought over first, because it only causes louis to grip his dick more firmly under the press of the extra hand, and harry nearly chokes. “we - fuck, can’t,” he continues halfheartedly, voice low.

“you don’t have to,” louis murmurs softly, and harry swears he can feel the flick of his tongue against the shell of his ear as he speaks. he’s still palming at harry’s dick and harry’s completely, undeniably hard by this point. “leave all the work to me. that way you’re just an innocent bystander if we get caught.” 

and with that he nudges harry’s legs apart a bit more and squeezes his dick one last time before reaching for his zipper. 

harry bites his lip, sucking in a breath and internally cursing himself at how easily persuaded he is by the older boy. he thinks it should probably scare him a bit.

“i just want to make it perfectly clear,” he whispers stubbornly, voice a little hoarse as he moves his school bag off the desk to rest it on the knee furthest louis and closest niall (fuck fuck fuck this should not be happening) in case he happens to wake up, “that i am very thoroughly opposed to the proceedings.” 

louis finishes undoing his trousers before bringing his own hand up to harry’s mouth, tracing his lips with his fingers. harry gets the message, eyes sweeping over the classroom once more before licking a stripe across his palm. “oh, yeah, i can tell,” louis drawls quietly, probably referring to the by now very obvious bulge resting in harry’s lap. “you’re totally hating this.”

harry sucks louis’ fingers into his mouth one by one, nipping a little in punishment for louis’ sarcasm. when they’re sufficiently lubricated in harry’s salvia (louis will say that it’s for lubrication purposes, but if the way his eyes darken when they stare at harry’s mouth as he does it is any indication, he just really likes harry sucking on his fingers) he wastes no time in slipping his hand down the front of harry’s pants and squeezing gently.

the immediate contact is enough to make the younger boy bite his lip to keep from gasping and he shuts his eyes tight, wishing he could make some kind of noise. there’s something (about a hundred things, actually) so enticingly filthy about this and harry’s finding it way hotter than he figures he probably should.

“jesus,” he gasps quietly when louis twists his wrist upward, causing a sharp pang of pleasure to course through his body, curl his toes. he can’t see the other boy’s face but he knows he’s smirking, can picture the familiar expression lit up against the dark backdrop of his closed eyelids. 

“nah,” louis mutters against his ear, nuzzling his nose into the curls hanging loosely around it. “just louis.” 

yep, definitely smirking. “you’re such a shit.” 

the shit in question lets out a breathy little laugh that harry can feel, hot against his neck, and that combined with louis speeding up the movements of his hand causes him to let out a quiet little moan that he doesn’t have time to bite back.

“shh, babe,” louis hushes him softly, tugging on his dick sharply in what he assumes to be punishment. harry blushes at the endearment, which is ridiculous given the situation, and moves his hands up to grip lightly at louis’ forearm; not hard enough to administer his movements in the slightest, just enough to run his fingers through the soft strands of hair he finds there and to satisfy his urge to touch. 

louis’s still stroking him, hard and fast, technique completely thrown out the window as he tries to push him over the edge as quickly as possible. harry’s biting his lip so hard it actually kind of hurts, but he can’t be bothered to care as he throws his head back and lifts a hand to cover his mouth and stop him from panting out any breathy encouragements or letting out any more accidental moans.

“almost there?” louis asks against his ear, and harry nods jerkily, unintentionally lifting his hips up to meet louis’ thrusting hand. “‘atta boy,” he says, and his voice is low and raspy in the way that it only gets when he’s turned on as he thumbs at the tip. “come on, love.”

and it’s that that does it, ‘love’, because that’s just - god, harry likes the pet names way more than he probably should. 

he feels his stomach tighten familiarly and bites his lip harder, sure he’s drawing blood, tightening his grip on louis’ arm to keep from crying out as he comes over the older boy’s fingers.

at the back of their full chemistry classroom. 

fuck. 

he slumps back into his chair, panting, as louis zips his trousers back up for him and stares at his own spunk covered hand, considering. 

and then he lifts it to his mouth, grinning eyes focused firmly on harry’s, and licks his fingers clean.

“shit,” harry curses, still breathing heavily as he comes down. he rests his hand lightly over his lower stomach. “are you trying to get it up again?”

louis chuckles, scanning the room briefly to make sure nobody’s paying them any attention before leaning in and kissing him gently on the lips. 

harry hums softly in protest when louis pulls back after only a second. “i couldn’t very well wipe it on my trousers, could i?” he asks, sitting casually back in his own seat. “we’re at school, harry. that’s inappropriate.” 

“i hate you.”

(he really wishes he could at least pretend that was true.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really don't like this part and i'm sad that i have to leave it at this for now, but twelve'll be up soon :-)


	12. Part Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing fifteen!year old harry and seventeen!year old louis is fun because it means louis can pick harry up.

“styles, do you have a second?”

harry stops walking on his way out of the chemistry classroom at his teacher’s words so abruptly that louis runs into him from behind with a muffled ‘oomf,’ and a quiet, “watch where you’re going, curly.” 

harry turns to shoot him a glare, because this is almost most definitely probably his fault, and louis smirks a bit and squeezes his waist subtly before filing out of the room for lunch with the rest of the students. harry turns to face cardle.

“yes?” he asks, trying to swallow down the muted sense of panic that always builds up in his chest whenever he’s confused, because, not to sound arrogant or whatever, but he’s not used to feeling confused. unless louis is involved, in which case – well, yeah.

he wonders expeditiously if this is about the - uh, whatever the hell happened with louis during that movie in class last week, but. it’s a bit late to bring that up, he thinks, and he probably would have asked louis to stay back too. (what would you even say to that? ‘hey, styles, don’t let boys fondle you in class,’ or ‘please refrain from partaking in sexual activities while at school,’ or ‘you’re expelled.’ harry thinks the last one is probably most appropriate. the revelation does nothing to ease his nerves.) 

“how is everything?” mr. cardle begins casually, sitting on the edge of his cluttered desk. it doesn’t sound ike a punishing start to a conversation.

harry’s brows furrow anyway. “uh – good. yeah, good. you?”

his teacher nods. he’s radiating some kind of energy that can really only be classified as giddiness. “better now that i’m not going to have to kick my star footie player off the team,” he says, face breaking out into a grin, and - oh.

oh. “what?” harry asks, tilting his head to the side, still kind of annoyingly confused. “what do you mean?” 

cardle’s grin doesn’t fade. “i don’t know how you did it, styles, but you did it. you got tomlinson’s grade up enough for him to stay on the team. it’s incredible, i didn’t think - don’t tell him i said this, god, i don’t think i’m supposed to even _think_ it let alone tell you - but i really didn’t think he had it in him.” he pauses for a second, looking thoughtful. “he’s a smart lad. he just needed a bit of motivation, i guess.” 

harry blinks. he didn’t - louis never said anything about his mark going up. 

he feels a heavy feeling of discomfort settling in the pit of his stomach, replacing the confusion, because _no no no_ , it can’t be over yet. without chemistry louis has no reason to look at him or talk to him or sit with him or go to his house or _kiss_ him and judging by the slight tremble to his hand as he brings it up to drag through his curls, harry’s not quite ready for that yet. 

“harry?” mr. cardle asks, raising a brow. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost. this is great news, i swear i’ll write you the best letter of recommendation in history to your university of choice. not that you’ll need it, of course – are you alright?” 

harry blinks again, this time to clear his head, and nods. he forces a bit of a smile. “yeah, i’m fine, he just never told - uh, i didn’t know. that’s great, though. and thanks a lot for the offer, mr. cardle, that’s brilliant.” 

harry swears his teacher’s eyes flash with something far too close to _knowing_ for harry’s liking before the man’s grinning again. “great for the team, yeah,” he says with a wink. “anyway, i just wanted to thank you for working with him. i know he’s a bit of a - er, a character, for lack of a better word, but he deserves to play and i really appreciate you enabling him to keep doing so.” a pause. “i’m sure he does, too.” 

right. _that’s_ what he appreciates. “it’s not a problem, mr. cardle,” harry says with a shrug, itching to get out of the classroom. “honestly, any time.” 

“watch it, styles, or i might just hold you to that.”

harry smiles back at him a bit awkwardly before mr. cardle clears his throat, seeming to catch on to harry’s eagerness to leave. “alright, you’re free to go,” he says with the wave of a hand. “thanks again, harry. you’re a lifesaver.” 

so harry turns to go with a nod and a wave of his own, but before he exits the classroom he pauses. it’s like he physically can’t keep the words from leaving his mouth, can’t bite back his childish curiosity, and he finds himself turning back with a deep breath before blurting out, “does louis know?” 

when cardle only looks confused, he elaborates quietly, “that he doesn’t need me—,” shit, no. “i mean, like. that his grade’s went up enough to play?” 

mr. cardle considers him for a second, again with those uncomfortably knowing eyes, before nodding. “yeah, harry,” he says. “he’s known since monday.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“harry, you’re overreacting.” 

“why didn’t he tell me?” 

“i don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” 

“niall, get real. i’m asking you. why didn’t he _tell_ me?” 

“and i’m telling you, i don’t know. christ, mate, why does it matter?” niall asks around a mouth full of chips. very classy. “cardle says tommo’s known for days and you haven’t stopped fucking around, so he obviously doesn’t care. just because his mark’s up doesn’t mean he doesn’t still need to be tutored, anyway. it’s not like you passed on your all-knowing nature to him or something, he still needs help.” 

“he doesn’t care about his mark,” harry argues, ignoring niall’s smug i-just-said-something-funny look. “he only agreed to it because mr. cardle threatened to kick him off the team. now that that’s not in jeopardy we - i’m useless. shit, niall, i’m _useless_.” 

“says the child prodigy,” niall scoffs, swallowing. “ms. ferguson used your math test as an answer key last week because after looking over yours she noticed mistakes in her own.”

“i can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or throwing subtle shade,” harry says idly. 

niall ignores him. “besides, from what i’ve heard, you’ve given him more than just good marks, if you know what i mean, so.” harry flushes at the implication. “i wouldn’t say you’re useless.” 

“okay, one, don’t _say_ that,” harry hisses, looking around the crowded cafeteria with still flaming cheeks. “and two,” he takes a deep breath. “he can get – er, _that_ – anywhere. don’t even pretend otherwise. there’s absolutely no reason for him to keep hanging around the awkward quiet kid with too much hair and literally no experience who skipped a few grades and has an abundance of pens.” 

niall rolls his eyes. “don’t get too uppity on yourself, christ,” he says sarcastically. “you’re a catch. actually, you know that girl i’m into? amy?” 

“i thought her name was demi?” 

“no, no. different girl, that didn’t work out. i’m talking about the tall and leggy one with the sick hats from maths.” 

“okay,” harry says slowly. 

“yeah, well, her mate madison? the even taller and leggier one? she’s into you, amy says. she thinks you’re cute and have just the right amount of hair and, i indirectly quote, ‘there’s something really sexy about a boy with brains.’” 

“all boys have brains, you can't live without one,” harry points out just to be a prat, but he finds he’s blushing. 

“you’re a shit,” niall replies. “anyway, she gave me madison’s number and i said i’d give it to you.” 

harry blanches. “um.”

“i know. s’not like i could just say no to amy, but i told her you were kind of otherwise occupied? i didn’t specify or anything so don’t have another mental break down.” 

“mmm, wouldn’t want that,” harry deadpans with a half-hearted glare. 'mental breakdown' is a little bit much, he thinks. louis’s left his mentality relatively unscathed. 

“keep your sarcastic comments to yourself, i’m trying to give you an ego boost here,” niall says. “moral of the story is that you’re hot – quit grinning, you little fuck, it’s true – and louis isn’t stuck with you because it’s _convenient_ , he’s fooling around with you because he wants to fool around with you. you more or less turned him fucking gay or whatever, does that not say anything?” 

“does what not say anything?” a voice asks, because of-fucking-course.

harry blinks up at louis owlishly and thinks fast before stuttering out a hurried, “uh, the fact that liverpool beat manchester four consecutive times in a row? i mean, because—” 

“man-u’s beat liverpool at least the last three times they’ve played,” louis addresses niall, sliding onto the bench next to harry and swiping a chip off his tray. he taps the fingers of his other hand gently against harry’s thigh under the table in greeting and harry bites his lip. “are we watching the same games, horan?”

niall raises an eyebrow at harry, amused. “guess not,” he says to louis easily, before standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “i’ve got to go meet amy in the library. text me later, harry,” he says pointedly. “see you later, tommo.”

“bye, mate,” louis replies absently, grabbing another one of harry’s chips. 

harry wrinkles his nose and ignores the look niall shoots him before walking off. “did you not eat?” he asks louis. 

“no, i ate,” louis replies. “but the lunchlady doesn’t like me because of that food fight i started last year so she always jips me chips.”

harry bites back a giggle. because he’s weak. “understandable.” 

“very,” louis agrees, reaching for harry’s tray again. harry rolls his eyes and shoves it towards louis, who shoots him a wink through his grin and okay, honestly, _enough_ with the ridiculous butterflies. 

“so what have i done to deserve the high honour of your presence, then?” harry asks, swallowing back said butterflies and trying to ignore louis’ fingers still tap tap tapping away on his thigh. they don’t usually talk at lunch. 

“charmed my family,” louis replies. “the girls have been asking for you so much since last time that i have been forced into inviting you over for dinner sunday night. it’s quite a shame, really. i’m getting a bit sick of your company, but they – oh, stop pouting, you know i’m joking.” 

harry’s pout turns into a grin. “i’ll have to check my schedule, but i suppose if it’s for the girls…” 

“definitely for the girls,” louis fills in with a smirk, squeezing harry’s thigh and letting his gaze fall to harry’s lips for a brief moment. 

harry’s breath most definitely does not catch. “then i guess i’ll have to make it happen.” 

“i guess so.” 

harry holds louis’ gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and leaning across him to steal one of his chips back. he hears niall’s voice in the back of his mind chanting an annoying mantra of ask him ask him ask him and. ugh. “are we still on for studying tonight?” he asks suddenly, decisively, faux casual. his heartbeat speeds up nervously. 

louis raises an eyebrow. “yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” 

“uh, no reason,” harry says, too quickly, then cringes at his own response. “like – no, we would be. we wouldn’t not be? i mean, i was just making sure—” 

louis reaches up a hand and covers harry’s mouth, effectively cutting him off. “harry,” he says simply. 

“what?” his voice comes out muffled against louis’ palm. 

louis drops said palm back to harry’s thigh. “you started doing that awkward stuttery thing that’s impossible to follow and i had to cut you off before i got too confused.” 

harry elects not to comment on that, because it is most definitely not a _thing_. he doesn’t do it enough for it to be considered a _thing._

louis grins at his presumably disgruntled expression before his eyes light up as though he’s remembered something. “oh, by the way, what’d cardle want? did he need help with his next lesson or something?” 

“ha,” harry says humourlessly. “very funny. no, he just wanted to—” he swallows thickly. “um, he—” 

louis raises his eyebrows expectantly but before harry can get it out, the bell to signal the end of lunch is ringing and goddammit, _really_? is the entire universe out to get him _all the time_? 

“nothing,” harry says shortly, grabbing his bag off the floor and standing up. 

“obviously not nothing,” louis sing-songs, grabbing his own schoolbag and standing up as well. “tell me tonight?” 

“okay,” harry says, because saying no to louis is just. not very probable. “tonight.” 

“good.” louis starts backing up, towards where stan and eleanor and zayn and his pretty, purple-haired girlfriend perrie are waiting for him by the cafeteria exit. harry makes eye contact with zayn for a second, remembering the conversation he definitely wasn’t supposed to hear in the locker room and the scene that zayn definitely wasn’t supposed to see in harry’s room, and blushes hotly before looking back to louis, who’s saying, “so see you at 5:00?” 

harry forces a smile and nods. “see you at 5:00,” he confirms. 

“maybe 4:58,” louis says, still backing away. he winks. “i get eager.” 

“go to class,” is harry’s exasperated reply, accompanied by an eye roll. but, like. a fond eye roll.

a really, really fond eye roll.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“hey, your mum let me in,” is louis’ greeting upon entering harry’s bedroom at 4:58 that evening. 

harry looks up from where he’s sprawled out on the bed with his laptop and grins. “oh, good. i was worried you’d broken in through the bathroom window. what a relief.” 

“sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” louis points out with a grin, dropping his bag by the door and flopping onto harry’s bed. “she says dinner’s in half an hour.” 

“okay,” harry replies. he tries not to read too much into the easy familiarity of louis’ presence in his house and closes his laptop, setting it on his bedside table. he goes to reach for his own school bag to grab his chemistry book out of habit but freezes halfway through, remembering what mr. cardle said and wondering what louis’s – expecting, kind of.

he sits back up without his books and takes a deep breath, considering his options.

“cardle told me your grade’s up,” he blurts unthinkingly, and then – oh, fuck, _shit_ , that wasn’t supposed to come out. or maybe it was, he can’t really think past the blood rushing in his ears. 

louis pauses in shifting his position on harry’s bed for just a moment before shrugging a shoulder. “yeah?” he asks calmly, moving his feet into harry’s lap.

“yeah,” harry replies, heart in his throat. “that’s, uh. why he held me back.”

louis’s quiet for a minute and harry could almost think he looks worried if he didn’t know any better. he tries to swallow. “i just – wanted to make sure you knew, i guess?” he lies.

louis shrugs again. “yeah, i knew,” he says simply. 

harry furrows his brows because – yeah, obviously he knew he knew, but. “then why didn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly. 

he looks up from louis’ feet on his lap to spare his face a glance to find that the older boy’s already staring at him thoughtfully. “i didn’t think it’d matter,” he says slowly, deliberately, sitting up on his elbows. harry blinks. “does it?” 

“no,” harry replies quickly, shaking his head. “no, god no, i just—“

“good, then,” louis interrupts, and it’s like the tension leaves his shoulders all in one easy motion and he falls back on the bed with finality. “if it doesn’t matter then it doesn’t change anything.” case closed, easy as that. 

harry releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “good,” he repeats, more so to himself than to louis. he finds he can’t really bite back a smile all of a sudden. “okay.”

“okay,” louis says back. his voice sounds amused and harry doesn’t really understand what just happened, to be quite honest, but he shoves louis’ feet off his lap and crawls up beside him on the bed anyway. louis grins at him slowly and harry can feel the warmth of his breath on his face when he says, “i suppose i should probably thank you for being a genius or whatever.” he looks at harry’s lips for a moment before meeting harry’s soft gaze with mirth shining in his eyes. 

“it’d be appreciated,” harry agrees lowly, letting out a breathless laugh when louis grips his school tie and tugs him closer. he feels relieved and excited and still just really really dangerously fond and before he can do anything about it or take up louis’s offer on thanking him for his smarts, his mum’s calling them downstairs for dinner. 

louis sighs and harry pecks a grinning kiss to his lips before rolling off the bed, muttering a promise of “thank me later,” and hoping his mum didn’t cook another form of inedible casserole. 

“wait,” louis says before harry reaches the door, and harry looks back at him expectantly. louis looks mildly disconcerted. “did you really think i’d just say ‘fuck it’ after my grade went up?”

he sounds more earnest than harry thinks he’s ever heard him. the realization makes him uncomfortable. “um,” harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “well, no – i don’t know. maybe?”

louis huffs out a breath. “when i said we were _friends_ , i meant it, hazza,” he says quietly, almost guiltily, and. well. okay. 

“okay,” harry says out loud, because he’s really not sure what else to say. he clears his throat and gestures toward the door in what he hopes isn’t a terribly awkward manner. “well, as my _friend_ , you’re not allowed to sue me if you get food poisoning from whatever ignominious meal my mum’s cooked up.” 

“deal,” louis grins. “also, i don’t know what 'ignominious' means.”

“it means ‘kiss me’,” harry replies cheekily. 

“liar,” louis says, jumping up off the bed and crowding harry up against the wall beside his door. “are you taking advantage of my vocabular ignorance?”

“‘vocabular’ isn’t a word, lou.” harry giggles when louis pinches his side. 

“you’re not a word,” louis counters childishly, ignoring harry’s lips altogether to press a kiss to his neck. harry shivers.

“and you said _sarcasm_ was the lowest form of wit,” harry mutters, trying to control his breathing. christ, his mum is downstairs waiting. 

“hush, everything i say is witty,” louis says, kissing his way wetly up harry’s throat. he teases the corner of harry’s bottom lip lightly before abruptly pulling away and grabbing harry’s sleeve. “c’mon, stop dawdling. we can’t keep anne waiting.”

“don’t call my mum _anne_ ,” harry says, wrinkling his nose and following louis down the stairs. he wipes his hand across his neck to assure louis didn’t leave any incriminating traces of saliva that would prompt immature laughter from his mother. “s’weird.”

“why?” louis asks, amused. “i like her more than i like you.”

“louis!” harry yelps, indignant, shoving him away as they enter the kitchen.

“what?” louis protests. “it’s true!” 

“what’s true?” harry’s mum asks, looking up from where’s she’s scooping something mushy and brown onto a plate at the table. oh, joy. 

“nothing!” harry says, pouting. “don’t set a plate for louis, he’s leaving because he sucks.” and honestly, judging by the look of the dish and his mum’s history of cooking, that’s probably more of a privilege than anything, but. 

louis bursts out laughing and harry goes to nudge him disdainfully again but louis catches his hand and spins him around in his arms, dragging harry in toward him so his back’s pressed against louis’ chest. he pins his arms out in front of him with his own hands when harry tries to squirm away.

“no rough-housing in the kitchen,” harry hears his mum say idly, amusement evident in her voice. 

“yes, ma’am,” louis says, breath tickling harry’s ear. 

“yes, ma’am,” harry mimics quietly, for the sake of being a brat. he’s glad louis can’t see his grin from this position because that would probably ruin the effect.

louis laughs again, releasing his hold on harry (who doesn’t miss it, thank you very much) and slipping into one of the empty seats around the table. 

harry can’t stop thinking _fond_. fond fond fond fond fond. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

half an hour later (or thirty minutes of harry and louis moving food around on their plates to make it look like they’d actually taken a bite and playing an insistent game of footsies under the table) harry finds himself excusing them from the table. because they have to study. anne cocks an eyebrow. 

“right,” she says. “no funny business, then.”

harry nearly chokes, cheeks flushing hotly, but louis only laughs again, eyes bright with warm amusement. jesus, maybe he really does like her more than harry. “wouldn’t dream of it, anne,” he promises solemnly, curtseying ridiculously. “scouts honour.”

he vaguely hears a mumbled “mhm,” from his mum and then louis’s pushing him up the stairs in front of himself with two hands on harry’s waist, grinning into the back of his neck.

when they reach the top harry turns in louis’ arms, grinning for no particular reason at all. he thinks he may still be high off the footsies. he quite likes footsies. “ignominious,” he says cheekily, threading his fingers through the soft hairs at the base of louis’ neck.

louis laughs but obliges anyway, leaning in to kiss him quickly. “you’re telling me what that word really means before i leave,” he demands against his lips, before picking him up by the waist and _oh, okay, so they’re doing that, then_ , harry thinks, wrapping his legs around louis’ hips to hold himself up. 

the angle makes it a lot easier for harry to deepen the kiss, which seems like a pretty good idea, so he does, opening his mouth against the pressure of louis’ and running his tongue along his bottom lip. louis makes an approving little noise at the back of his throat, and then suddenly they’re in his room and louis’s dropping him on his little single bed and clambering on top of him and. well, this is an interesting turn of events from _casserole._

as soon as they’re situated they’re attached by their mouths again, kissing and biting and petting each other breathless. louis nudges harry’s legs apart to wiggle in between them and harry lets out helpless little whine when the older boy presses his thigh deliberately into harry’s crotch. 

he feels louis smile against his lips at the noise – duly noted – and when louis’ tongue slips into his mouth purposefully harry sighs shakily, basking in louis’ attention as his heart begins to thump excitedly in his chest in what’s definitely more than starting to become a familiar manner.

harry can’t hold back his moan (okay, harry doesn’t _try_ to hold back his moan) when louis’ palm replaces his thigh between harry’s legs, kneading softly at the growing bulge in his school trousers. “this definitely constitutes as ‘funny business,’” harry pants, arching into the touch.

louis laughs outright. “i was never a boy scout, my honour means shit.”

“you’re horrible,” harry says, somewhere between a gasp and a giggle, burying his face into louis’ neck and pressing wet kisses against the skin he finds there.

“mmm,” louis agrees, hands roaming. “but you love me.” 

harry slows his movements a bit and almost wants to groan at the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach at louis’ words, which is ridiculous because he knows louis’s joking and it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s not – he doesn’t. he’s got nothing to hide, no reason to squirm at the lighthearted quip, because louis has told him what their relationship is and he understands and he’s okay with it and he doesn’t even want anything else and he’s fine, really. he is. he’s not in - that. god, no. ludicrous. 

“quit thinking,” louis mutters, like a complaint, like he knows harry’s attention has slipped away from the task and hand. he rolls them over, forcing harry into a straddling position on top of him.

“i never think with you,” promises harry unthinkingly, breathless from the sudden switch in position. louis freezes in his charge of unbuttoning harry’s shirt but doesn’t say anything for a second and harry curses himself out internally because he really, really didn’t mean to say that.

he never means to say anything he says when he’s with louis. maybe that’s what makes it so exciting. 

“is that a good thing?” louis asks after another beat of silence. he resumes tracing the exposed expanse of skin around harry’s waist before slipping his warm hands up his half unbuttoned shirt, and harry wants to say _yes_ and _no_ and _i don’t know_ all at the same time.

instead he leans down and closes the distance between their mouths, because that’s always been easier than talking with them.


End file.
